


The Rapture in the Dark Puts Me at Ease

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale returns home from war to find that the home he knew and the family he had are gone. Greed, poverty and cruelty have replaced his idyllic memories. Despite the new harshness of Beacon Hills, Derek refuses to believe that all hope is lost. And it seems he is not alone as the mysterious Night Watchman deliver hope to the people of Beacon Hills by giving food and money to those who need it most.</p><p>The Night Watchman will not tolerate this injustice.  Will Derek?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, again! I'm back, with a Robin Hood AU :D  
> After not writing for almost four months, I'm happy to be back at it. I love historical AUs and have been wanting a Robin Hood one for some time, so I finally gave in and am writing it! As with a lot of my fusions, it is loosely based on Robin Hood lore. 
> 
> The rating will go up when the UST is fulfilled. *ahem*
> 
> Thanks to my betas robotlauren, foreverblue-navy, and ionsquare, along with somekim for the summary. You guys are the best, and ilu so much. 
> 
> This fic will be updated on MOONDAYS for old times sake. This fic definitely has a s2 feel about it, with the Hale Pack (back at it again!!!!!) and Argent as the villain. I've been reading a lot of old school sterek (when I first got into the fandom and started reading/writing it) and I MISS THAT FEELING, you know? anyways. I hope this has that vibe to it.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @attoliancrown!

It had been years since Derek stepped foot on home soil. He’d forgotten little things about it, like the way the town sounded on market day, how his mother’s bread smelled right after she finished baking it, the feel of one of his sister’s hugs as she held him close. War made things easy to forget, every nuance to his life before slaughtering countless men had been stripped from him, leaving only bare bones, his bow and arrows, and a sword. Derek didn’t remember a time where he wasn’t covered in blood, in filth, with no escape without abandonment. Derek had stayed, had killed, would return with honors to the life he’d left behind. 

With a sealed decree from the king himself, Derek returned home to Beacon Hills, to deliver said decree to the sheriff. Though the travel itself took weeks, via ship and horseback, Derek kept the decree safe in an oiled leather bag, to ensure that the ink didn’t run. It had rained for most of the journey, so Derek was grateful for the satchel draped over his shoulder as he ran his horse as hard as he was able without injury. He wasn’t alone in this endeavour, for with him was his wartime companion and closest confidant, Vernon Boyd. Together, they took watches throughout the numerous nights together, keeping each other safe from road bandits. During the war, they’d had each other’s backs and that wouldn’t change now that they were out of harm’s way.

What Derek wanted most, as soon as he saw the gates of Beacon Hills in the distance, was to return home to his family’s estate and set eyes on them for the first time in four years. But he had a job to do, a duty that he had to put above his own wants and needs. He hadn’t done a single thing for himself in almost four years, putting his country before him in every aspect of his life. He merely had one more task to do, then he could go home. Then Boyd could go home. 

Upon arrival, Derek didn’t notice much of a difference to the outer walls themselves, the gate open, guards atop the tower above as he rode his horse across the bridge and beneath the portcullis. It wasn’t until he saw what was supposed to be the marketplace that he saw what had changed in his absence. He looked around him as he removed the hood from his head, the rain merely a fine mist as it fell as he exchanged a look with Boyd. The market was a saddened state, the booths in disrepair and scant when in his mind he recalled nothing but memories of the outer bailey being full of not only booths, but of people selling their wares. Now, there was merely a handful. He and Boyd needn’t speak, after years of camaraderie that bore a deep bond between them that allowed them to speak without words. Derek shook his head minutely, showing Boyd his dismay at what he saw within the walls. Boyd wasn’t from Beacon Hills, but from the north. He didn’t know what Beacon Hills was like before.

Derek dismounted, keeping his horse close by the reigns as he walked over to a fishmonger who looked at them both warily. Derek knew his appearance wasn’t that of a nobleman, but of a vagabond. He was dirty, his beard untrimmed for some time, and his face was surely gaunt, as was Boyd's, though he held a slightly more imposing figure than Derek did. 

“Is it not market day?” He asked with trepidation, once more looking around him, afraid of the answer.

“It is that,” the man said, lips pursed. There were no bright fabrics draped over the booths to keep out sun and rain, no children running by, no chickens afoot, no hanging boar or pheasant to be bought, no furs to be traded. 

“How did this happen?” Derek asked, not expecting a response as he eyed the fish that was for sale before him, picked over and smelled days past fresh. The fishmonger laughed at him derisively.

“Hard times have befallen the entire countryside. I don’t know where you’ve been--”

“The war,” Derek said plainly. He didn’t know what he expected as a response, but the man before him spitting on the ground wasn’t it. Derek’s eyes widened, shocked at the disrespect to the king. Another glance at Boyd, whose face was blank, though his hand was on the hilt of his sword, still tucked safely away in it’s scabbard. It could be unsheathed within the blink of an eye, if needed. The man before them seemed not to notice how close he was to being gutted, the threat of war still looming in both Boyd and Derek’s minds, always ready for a fight. 

“You’ll not find a fanfare for your return, I expect.” Derek looked to the keep, still a ways away, deep into the castle, across another moat and through another portcullis where he was stopped by the guard. Before, one could easily walk to the keep itself without being stopped, so Derek was surprised that he wasn’t allowed through without papers. Derek looked through the guards, to the inner bailey, where there seemed to be no one walking about. Above him, thunder rumbled and the rain picked back up. Derek refused to believe it to be ominous. 

“No weapons,” the guard stated, looking to both Derek and Boyd’s swords, along with Derek’s bow and quiver. Boyd opened his mouth to protest, but Derek held his hand up, stopping him. 

“We travel here at the request of the king himself,” Derek said, his voice as imposing as he could make it, bringing forth an air of authority. He reached into his satchel, showing the king’s seal that was on the rolled parchment. “You deny the king’s very messengers their weapons?” 

“You’ll be escorted to the sheriff, but no weapons are permitted unless you’re of the guard.” 

Derek relented, giving over his weapons. Boyd followed suit, begrudgingly. They were escorted by four guards. Instead of it feeling like they were being lead, though, Derek felt more like they were being brought to the sheriff against their wills. Derek knew the sheriff well, having grown up in Beacon Hills and being the first son of a Baron. Sheriff Stilinski was a good man, fair and just. A feeling of dread overcame Derek as they walked into the keep, though, as Stilinski’s colors did not adorn the halls as they once had. 

Though torches were lit, it somehow felt dark within the walls that seemed dreary, and not because of the weather. Derek had run within these very walls as he grew up, playing with other baron’s sons, with the sheriff’s son. He knew the rugs, the tapestries, the furniture. He knew the secret passages, as shown to him by the sheriff’s son. This, though, was not the keep he remembered. His stomach sank as they were brought into an antechamber to the main hall, a lesser place to meet reserved for peasants. Derek refused to let it show on his face, a chip to his pride meant nothing to him, not after war. Besides, he didn’t look like the son of a baron, and how were the guards to know that he was a Hale returned from war. 

They waited there, in silence, with their four guards at the door. Without an offer to sit, or given food or water, they waited for hours. Beside him, Boyd visibly showed his impatience by his jaw tightening, his hand repeatedly going to where his sword would be, it being his companion for years, finding nothing but the ghost of it there instead. Derek rolled his neck, closing his eyes as he tried not to let Boyd’s temper get the best of him, as well. After such a long journey, having to wait now seemed like a slap in the face. 

Above them, a chandelier made of wrought iron held lit candles that kept the room dimly lit. Derek stared at the crest tapestry that hung on the wall behind the throne, trying to place it. It wasn’t Stilinski’s, which was maroon, but blue and silver. He knew it, but he couldn’t place the banner in his mind. He hadn’t thought of baronies or house crests in years. Growing up, he was made to memorize them all, but that was before the war, before his mind had been overtaken by battle strategies and the need for survival. There was still a feeling of dread that stayed with him as he waited, beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. 

They stood there like the soldiers they were, straight with their hands behind their backs as the time passed. Dusk swept into the room, the sound of the rain outside picking up the only sound in the antechamber. Beside him, Boyd’s stomach growled with hunger. Derek, too, felt the pangs of hunger roil through his body. They both turned their heads towards a door that had opened beside the banner, creaking as it did so, revealing the sheriff. He wasn’t Stilinski, much to Derek’s dismay. He hadn’t expected Stilinski, not with the shambles that the bailey had been in, and the change of the banners, but he had still held hope. But alas, his last hope had been dashed as Baron Argent, no, sheriff Argent, stepped into the antechamber, flanked by guards. 

The four that had been stationed with Derek and Boyd stepped forward, urging Derek and Boyd to do the same. The Sheriff sat in his throne, elevated on a two step dias, looking down on Boyd and Derek. 

“Step forward,” Argent said, sounding bored. Derek did so, his hands dropping to his side, his head lowered. “Name yourself.” 

“Derek Hale, sir.” There was a pause of recognition on Argent’s face, Derek’s family name known to him. 

“You were thought to be dead, killed in combat,” Argent said flippantly. “You could be an imposter.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” Derek said. “I’ve word from the king himself.” Derek brought out the decree, still sealed and addressed to the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. He knelt as he held it out for Argent to take. Argent, though, did not move, but mere sneer down at Derek’s dirtied hand. 

“The hour is late. I’ll receive you in the morning.” Argent stated as he stood. Without taking the decree, he turned to leave. “I expect you to be more presentable to me in the morning.” 

And then he was gone. 

Derek knelt there, his eyes wide as he still held up the decree. The sheriff of Beacon Hills had refused to take the king’s message. Unable to believe it, Derek slowly lowered his arm, his gaze falling to Boyd, who shrugged. 

They were escorted back out to the gates and given their horses and weapons without a word. As soon as they mounted their horses, Boyd couldn’t hold back any longer.

“That was completely--”

“I know,” Derek said. 

“The disrespect alone!” 

“I know,” Derek conceded with a sigh.

“The very nerve--”

“Boyd,” Derek said, giving him a look. “We are within earshot.” 

“I care not,” Boyd spat. “For he is a boorish barbarian. He had us stand there for hours, and then sent us away because of the hour? Uncouth, vile--”

“Boyd,” Derek said again, though he felt the same. “Let us away, to my family’s estate. There we will be welcomed with open arms. Think of the meal we’re to have.” 

“That I can do,” Boyd said, dropping his anger only to replace his scowl with a smile. “I long for a bath.” 

“Me as well,” Derek said, thinking more of his family than to be scrubbed clean. 

During the war, Derek had dreamed of what it would be like to return home to his family, to be welcomed and adorned with kisses and his mother crying at his safe return. As his family’s estate came into view his stomach sank once more. His family’s tenants had always been well looked after, but even in the darkness he saw shambles when there used to be quaint cottages with thatched roofs. Some of the roofs were sunken in, others looked ransacked. 

“Derek--”

“Not now, Boyd,” Derek said, his voice strained. He got off his horse, running towards one of the houses. He found it empty. This wasn’t the welcome he’d envisioned. He walked back to his horse, stopping when he heard footfalls approaching: someone was running. Boyd pulled his sword as a young man stopped just before them, his eyes wide. He had a torch with him, despite the rain. In his other hand was a knife, as if he was ready to fight them. 

“This land has nothing of worth,” he said, his hand shaking as he held the knife out. “Leave at once.” 

“What do you mean, nothing of worth?” Derek asked as he stepped forward. He wasn’t the least bit afraid of a knife, not when wielded by someone he could snap like a twig in his hand. 

“We’ve already been ransacked,” he said. “There’s nothing left to take.” 

“Do you know who I am?” Derek asked him. “This is my land, my family’s land. Explain yourself.” 

“The Hales are all dead,” he stammered. Derek took a step backwards from him, the news hitting him harder than he expected, despite his rising dread that something was horribly wrong. “They were hung.” 

“Enough,” Boyd said, stepping forward, his sword pulled from its scabbard. “State your name.”

“Isaac. Isaac Lahey.”

“Isaac?” Derek asked, his hand on his face, pushing his hood back as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you not remember me?” He remembered Isaac. He was the blacksmith’s son, timid but had a mouth on him. They’d played together a lifetime ago, had gone hunting together. 

“Derek?” Isaac asked, tears welling up in his eyes. Tears that Derek didn’t believe he had for himself. “You’re supposed to be slain.”

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” Derek asked as Isaac brought the torch closer, looking him in the eye. 

“Oh, sir,” Isaac said, his head shaking. “You’ve returned home.” Derek allowed himself to be hugged, though he felt nothing inside as he pushed back his hopes of seeing his family again, of holding his sisters close, of showing his family pride by returning home from war. “I’ll take you home.”  
Isaac lead them to the house, which was dark, the brush overgrown, the door stuck closed. 

“We’ve kept brigands away from your family’s things,” Isaac said. “Well, as best we could.” Isaac went around, lighting candles. “I can get a fire going,” he offered. “There should be dry wood stocked, still.”

“Thank you, Isaac,” Derek said as an automatic response, unable to fathom the fact that he was the only Hale remaining. He sat in a chair by the unlit fire as Boyd walked around the main room. 

“I can go wake the others,” Isaac said. “They’d be happy to have you home.” 

“If you wish,” Derek said as Isaac began to ready a fire. He waited for it to catch, then stepped back, all of them watching the wood begin to burn. 

“Food, you need food, surely, and -- and what else?” Isaac asked. He was a blacksmith’s son, not a servant. 

“If you had anything to spare,” Derek offered. “I would be much obliged.” 

Isaac left them, then, to explore the Hale estate. They lit candles as they went through the undisturbed rooms. The windows were boarded up, leaves and dirt littered the floors. Tapestries were missing, furniture too, but the house still looked as though someone would walk around a corner at any moment. No one did, though. There were no ghosts to be found. Derek could still hear their laughter, their footsteps running up and down the halls, haunting him as they returned to the fire. 

“I’ll fetch us some water,” Boyd said. “I saw the well on the way in.” 

“Thank you, Boyd,” Derek said as he stood by the mantle, staring at the fire. 

While Boyd was gone, Isaac returned with one person, a young woman with blond hair, braided and clothes as worn through as Derek’s own. 

“Erica?” Derek asked, trying to recall his parent’s tenants. She’d grown much in the four years of his absence, but her eyes weren’t to be forgotten. 

“Sir,” she said, bowing her head. “I’ve brought you bread and cheese,” she said, handing Derek a basket. “It’s all we have.” Derek took it, frowning at the meager portions before him. 

“Thank you, Erica,” Derek said. 

“Since you’re returned to us,” Erica began, though Isaac shook his head imploringly for her to stop. “Are you going to save us?” 

“Save you?” Derek asked. 

“Save us from Sir Jackson,” Erica said, her voice resolute. “He’s taken your land.” 

“I’ve an audience with the sheriff tomorrow, I’ll put this to rights,’” Derek assured her. “But first Boyd and I have to bathe, to sleep, to eat.” 

“I’ll ready a bath,” Erica said, taking the water from Boyd as he reentered the room. Derek raised his eyebrows at her brazenness, but didn’t stop her as she set to work heating water. 

Derek sat, splitting the food that was brought to them between he and Boyd equally, before devouring it. Boyd, too, ate his in record timing. 

There was enough water for both he and Boyd to wash up considerably, but not enough for a real bath. Erica and Isaac gave them privacy as they stripped their dirty clothes, then scrubbed the dirt off of themselves, rinsing their skin off, and washed their hair. When they were done, Erica gave them cleaner clothes, found in a trunk upstairs, the garments possibly once belonging to Derek’s father or uncle. 

They fit him perfectly, but were a little tight on Boyd, especially the tunic. Derek tried not to think about the fact that he was alone, save Boyd. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, in reality, but in that moment, Derek felt bereft as his fingers ghosted over his father’s clothes. He needed to be alone, before his emotions overcame him, finally. 

“I must bid you all a good night,” Derek said to Erica and Isaac. “I will come speak with you and whoever is left on these lands tomorrow upon my return from the Keep.” Erica and Isaac both bowed reverently to him, as if he was his father, before leaving he and Boyd alone once more. Derek, not wanting to talk of the day, offered Boyd one of the empty bedrooms. “Pick one," Derek said. “And I will choose another, save for the master bedroom. I don’t -- It’s not to be touched.” 

“Tomorrow will be a better day,” Boyd whispered in empathy, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

“I hope this to be true,” Derek said before finding himself in his old bedroom. It was as it always had been, with a four poster bed, the drapes closed, sconces on the walls ready to be lit, a chair by the fireplace, books piled next to it, a life long forgotten, preserved--

Remembered. 

Derek fell into his bed, falling asleep without crying for the loss of his family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for subscribing! (and commenting, and leaving kudos <3)

A rooster crowing woke Derek just before dawn. Waiting for him downstairs was Erica, who had fresh eggs for him and Boyd. She stood off to the side as she waited for them to finish eating, looking like she was on the verge of asking them something. 

“What is it?” Derek asked as he and Boyd outfitted themselves with their swords and cloaks, dried after a night by the fire. 

“It’s about the sheriff, sir.” 

“Argent, what of him?” Derek asked, his attention solely on Erica. 

“He’s a dangerous man, sir. Just...be careful,” she said seriously. 

There was more to the story, given her body language, and the fact that she bit her bottom lip, but she didn’t continue. Derek nodded his head, a hand on her shoulder in empathy to show that he understood. He wouldn’t act brashly, despite his need for justice for his family. He would only ask if the timing was right, or if the topic was breached. 

“When I return, we will discuss setting this land back to rights,” Derek assured her. She gave him a grim smile as he and Boyd set out, their horses ready for them when they stepped out of the house. In the daylight, Derek saw the true state that his family’s land was in. Smoke came out of one of the chimneys, Isaac’s, and it looked as though most of the small cottages had been destroyed, some by fire. Derek’s jaw clenched as they rode out. He would get to the bottom of this. 

Once more, the bailey within the stone walls was desolate, and once more they were forced to be rid of their swords and their horses were taken from them. Derek had the decree with him, and he was determined to make sure that the sheriff read it. 

They waited for an audience, and this time weren’t alone. There were people in the antechamber, all standing in silence, waiting. It was full, and Derek had not expected it to be so. Eventually, the sheriff, along with his counselors, entered the antechamber. Derek recognized some of them, who had been counselors to Sheriff Stilinski. There were new faces among them, of course, but those he recognized were ones that had known his family: Sir Deaton, Sir Finstock, and Sir Martin. Sir Deaton had been not only an acquaintance, but a family friend. Derek’s blood boiled as he stood there, wondering if Deaton had fought for his family’s lives or if he’d been a bystander to their deaths. 

One by one, people stepped forward, taking their turn with their requests to the sheriff. Derek listened to each request, though tedious as the day went on. When Derek stepped forward, Sheriff Argent sat back in his chair, his face impassive at Derek’s wide stance, the fact that he had the decree in his hand before him. 

“Sheriff Argent,” Derek began, his voice loud enough to fill the room. “I, Derek Hale of Beacon Hills, have brought a decree from the King himself for your own eyes to read.” Derek stepped forward again, with one foot up on the stone dais before him, then knelt while he extended the decree. In a room full of people, surely the sheriff would not deny the king’s request. Derek’s head was bowed as he waited for the parchment to be taken from him. The room was silent around him, as if everyone held their breath as they waited. 

Finally, after a long moment, the sealed parchment was taken from him. 

The sheriff broke the seal without ceremony, his eyes cast down at its contents. He sighed laboriously, then handed it over to one of the counselors that Derek didn’t recognize. Derek looked up, first at Deaton, then to the sheriff, whose gaze bore into him, his eyes showing little kindness. 

“Your duty is finished. You may go.”

“Of my family, sir, and the land,” Derek said, not moving. 

“Your family was found guilty of treason,” Argent said, his eyes lifting to look out across the audience. “They were hanged as a warning to others, should they seek to defy our king.” Derek seethed, knowing his family’s loyalty. “But since you were at war, fighting for our king, you have been overlooked.” Derek opened his mouth to speak, but Argent raised his hand, silencing Derek. “As for your land, it was handed over to Jackson Whittemore to oversee. Since you’ve returned from the dead, the land is rightfully yours. All assets have been given over to the crown. Your land is yours, but the money is not. You are dismissed.” 

Derek, shocked, remained kneeling until two guards stepped forward, hoisting him to his feet. Derek caught the eye of Deaton as he was wrenched around and forced out of the antechamber. His face was unreadable; Derek raged internally. Once they retrieved their horses and weapons they set off towards the estate, both of them in silence, trapped with their own thoughts. 

Erica and Isaac met them at the fence that outlined the property, which was in disrepair and broken, just like the rest of the property. 

“It did not go well, sir?” Isaac asked apprehensively. 

“In a way, no,” Derek stated as he dismounted. Erica took the reigns, petting the horse as she fed it an apple. She handed Derek and Boyd one as well, from a basket she kept at her feet. “Where did you get this?” Derek asked. “Do we have an apple tree?” 

Erica and Isaac exchanged glances. 

“No, sir,” they said in unison. Derek waited for an answer from them as he bit into it, holding back a moan at the juiciness. 

“There is much to explain,” Isaac said. “But first: what of the land?”

“The land is mine once more,” Derek stated. “Whittemore isn’t welcome here any longer.” Derek looked around at the ramshackle cottages. “I want to clean this place up, knock down what we need to, salvage what we can. Is it only you two here?” Derek asked. 

“No, sir. But the others were frightened.”

“Of me?” Derek asked.

“Of Sir Whittemore,” Erica stated. “But they’ll come out as soon as we bring them the news.” 

“Go around, gather everyone. I need to speak with them all at once.” Erica took her basket and set off, Isaac as well, in another direction. Derek turned to Boyd, sharing a look with him. 

“You’ve no money.”

“I know,” Derek answered.

“You’ve no favor from the sheriff.”

“I know.”

“We cannot take care of a small village, Derek,” Boyd stated plainly. 

Derek gave him a withering look. “These are my family’s people, Boyd, I’m not going to let them starve.” 

All in all, there were twenty-five people still living on Hale land, half of what used to be there. Derek spoke to them honestly, telling them that he would do his best and assured them that he would set things to rights as they once were. He handed out duties, listed priorities, then headed into the house to confer with Boyd. 

“Help me go through my family’s things for anything of value,” Derek said, looking around the main room. “Isaac said they left the house alone, and it looks as though he was true to that word. Nothing looks to have been touched, save for the struggle my family put up when they were obviously taken from these very walls.” 

“Do you want to talk about--”

“No,” Derek said sternly. He most certainly didn’t want to speak of his family’s deaths, not now, not ever. What was done cannot be undone. He had to look forward, had to think of his people and their health. No matter what he did, he couldn’t bring his family back from the grave Argent put them in. 

They spent time well into the evening gathering what little they could find. There were rings, necklaces, brooches, fine women’s clothing that couldn’t be worn by he or Boyd but could be sold or traded. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep this?” Boyd asked, holding up a ring with his family’s crest. 

Derek took it, putting it on his finger. “We will sell this last,” he said. 

“Where are we to sell these things?” Boyd asked plainly. “The marketplace was barren. It was obvious there is no money to be found in Beacon Hills.” 

“Oh, there is money,” Derek assured him. “But it won’t be found at market. I’m sending you and a few others to another city, away from Argent’s prying eyes, to sell or trade. We need seed; we need livestock; we need coin. Anything you can gather, grain if possible.” 

“We’d need a wagon.”

“We will see if we have one in working order.” 

The next morning, Derek woke to find Erica with food, once more, for them. 

“Where are you getting this?’ Derek asked as Erica poured them two bowls of oatmeal. Erica paled, her eyes averted. 

“I cannot say,” she mumbled. 

“Did you steal?” Derek asked, tilting her chin so that she would look him in the eye. She shook her head. “Then tell me.”

“It was brought to us,” Erica stammered. “At night, the Night Watchman brought it. They bring food and leave it for us. I thought to share it with you, sir.” 

“Where do they leave it?” Derek asked. “Why?”

“Because we’re in need of it, sir. They leave it in a basket, hidden from plain view at night, twice a week.” 

“Show me, tell me when they will come next.”

“Please,” Erica implored. “If you confront them they might stop--”

“I want to make sure it is safe. How long has this been going on?” Derek asked her. 

“Since your family was taken,” Erica said, tears in her eyes. “Jackson has done nothing but destroy your land, but the Night Watchman has done all they can to keep us alive, never leaving the shadows.” 

“So you don’t know who they are?” Derek asked. 

“No, sir.”

Derek needed to know who his family’s ally was, who was feeding his people. He needed to repay them.

He needed to talk to them. 

With Boyd gone, Derek set out to helping his people rummage through the cottages. One of them needed a thatched roof and nothing more, while another had a roof but the door was unsalvageable. He went to work setting things to right, one task at a time. He had children helping him, while any able body worked at other tasks, such as fixing the fence in case Boyd brought back livestock. With the sun high in the sky a child came running, announcing that there was a visitor at the main house. 

Derek, who had shed his father’s tunic in the midday heat, wiped his face of sweat and dirt before putting it back on as he walked back towards the house. He had expected to see Deaton, or perhaps Finstock. Instead, he found a young man he barely recognized, wearing well worn boots, soft leather pants, and a loose fitting cotton shirt with the sleeves half rolled up. It had been four years, but parts of them remained the same: the moles dotted across his face, the upturn of his nose, the smile across his face that made Derek’s match it. 

“Stiles,” Derek said as he approached him. Stiles Stilinski, the former sheriff’s son, stood before him taller than when Derek had left for war, his hair longer than the close crop that he used to keep. 

“The rumors are true,” Stiles said as they embraced. He held Derek close. “You were thought to be dead.” 

“I’m told I am a ghost.” 

“One most solid in form,” Stiles said with a laugh, his hand going to Derek’s face as the embrace ended. “And with a beard.” 

“It is good to see your face,” Derek admitted, watching as Stiles’ face flushed as his hand dropped. 

“I--” Stiles began, but his mouth closed as he swallowed. “You return to a different place than you left it.” 

“Much has changed,” Derek said somberly. Stiles looked around, his eyes darting off to the distance. “Please, come inside.” 

Stiles followed Derek inside, where he could offer him nothing but water from the well. Stiles took the water offered to him as he looked around the house, his eyes narrowing. 

“Were you robbed?” Stiles asked. “I thought -- I thought everything remained untouched in here. That Jackson didn’t get his grubby hands on your family’s things.” 

“He didn’t, I did,” Derek said with a sigh. “Boyd, who you don’t know, but was with me throughout the war, has just taken most of my family’s possessions to be sold or traded.” Derek waved a hand wanting to discuss other things with Stiles instead. “Tell me, is your father well?” 

“He is, considering,” Stiles grumbled. At Derek’s look of confusion, Stiles continued on after his own audible sigh of frustration. “He had fallen ill a few years back, making it impossible for him to continue to be sheriff.” Stiles put the cup of water down as he began pacing the room, his hands fidgeting, reminding Derek of when they were younger and Stiles was unable to keep still for any amount of time. “Baron Argent, at the time, had forced the issue of my father stepping down, he paid off the counselors-- my father was stripped of his station and forced into reclusion. As soon as he stepped down he got better,” Stiles said with a shrug. “And now, you see, Beacon Hills has become this desolate place where only the extremely wealthy are really living, and everyone else suffers.”

“How has this happened?”

“Taxes,” Stiles states. “Unreasonably high. Argent skimps from the top, making the taxes higher so he gets even more than the king himself.”

“This is just--”

“It gets worse,” Stiles said, biting his lip. He didn’t look at Derek as he spoke, as if he couldn’t face him. “It was your father who figured it out, who was the first to speak out against Argent.” 

Derek sat down, his head in his hands as he thought of the implications. His father, a righteous man and loyal to the king, had seen treachery in the sheriff and couldn’t stand by as the people around him starved. Their entire family paid for it, being called traitors to the crown and been made examples of: this is what happens to those who oppose Sheriff Argent. Derek didn’t need to be told more. He jumped as Stiles placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort, he hadn’t been expecting it. 

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” Stiles said. Derek put his hand over Stiles’, squeezing it for a moment before letting it drop. 

“It’s not your fault,” Derek said, looking up at him. Stiles wasn’t a kid anymore, wasn’t the person that Derek left behind four years ago. But he also wasn’t the warrior that Derek himself had become, hardened by a life of killing with a sword and bow. Still, there was something in Stiles’ eyes, a loss of innocence perhaps, that struck Derek as different. Stiles’ jaw was clenched shut, his breathing harsh. 

“I should have stopped them,” Stiles said. “I should have done more for your people--”

“They aren’t your responsibility.” 

“Derek,” Stiles said, kneeling by Derek’s side, his hand grasping at Derek’s. “Beacon Hills has become something else. The sheriff is destroying it and I-- selling your family’s wealth isn’t going to fix it.” 

“It’s all I can do,” Derek said. “I won’t have them starve--”

“They haven’t been starving,” Stiles pointed out.

“Ah, yes, they told me, a masked vigilante has been leaving them scraps to eat.” Stiles’ eyes hardened, his hand pulled away from Derek’s as he stood. “This isn’t a life for them, and if I can get seed and livestock, they will at least have milk and be able to grow their own food again. Jackson let the fields die.” Stiles’ face was closed off, now, where as moments before Derek had seen a glimpse of the past in his gaze. Now, though, it was as if a mask had been pulled over it. 

“My father wishes to see you,” Stiles said, fists clenched at his sides. 

“I’ve angered you,” Derek stated. “I don’t know what for, Stiles-- tell me what I’ve done?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Stiles said. “That seed and livestock won’t do anything.” 

“Stiles--”

“I’m needed at home,” Stiles said as he walked towards the door. “I’m-- I’m glad you’re home, Derek. We thought you were dead, I thought-- I thought I’d have to go through life thinking that-- the last time we spoke...” Stiles sighed, nodding his head as he looked from the ground to Derek, catching his eyes as he lifted his chin. “Come find me when you see that it will take more than some seeds and a few cows to fix Beacon Hills.” 

With that, Stiles was gone and Derek was left alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those who read & comment, subscribe, and leave kudos! it's greatly appreciated, especially with such a little niche fic like this one! <3

Derek bathed before visiting the Stilinski estate, after days of hard work on his lands. He had waited a few days after seeing Stiles to even think about the visit, his mind otherwise occupied. His estate was in shambles, his money gone, his family’s legacy in tatters. The nobility of Beacon Hills was a slippery slope and wanted very little to do with a fallen household. Boyd had returned with less than Derek had hoped, but at least it was a start. Cottages were patched up, others demolished and stripped of wood and anything they could salvage. The fence was repaired, barn once more usable. When he let himself rest, all he could think of was the former sheriff, and how he owed him a visit. He did not think of his family, because the wound was still too new. He reminded himself as he washed away the dirt of his land from his body that he couldn’t fix what had happened, but only that of what was to come. 

He shaved, put on his father’s fine clothes, looking like the nobleman he should have been instead of the destitute archer returned from war to find his family killed for another’s greed. Derek wore a hidden dagger in his boot, another by his belt, and his bow and quiver over his shoulder for the journey. Erica gave him a little bit of food for the trip, a bit of jerky and an apple given to them the night before by the Night Watchmen, who remained elusive, though Derek had hoped to catch them in the act. 

The Stilinski estate was small, smaller than the Hale land, though was in better repair. They had very little tenants on their land, but they looked well cared for, at least. As Derek approached, he saw the estate door open, revealing the former sheriff himself, John Stilinski. Stiles, though, was nowhere to be found as of yet. Derek dismounted, smiling as a servant stepped forward to take her from him to tend to. 

“The prodigal son returns,” John said as Derek stepped forward. “It is good to see you well and alive, son.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Derek said, surprised at the warm welcome. “I’m sorry for the delay in coming to see you.”

“No need,” John said. “Stiles mentioned how busy you’ve been, how much you’re putting into setting things right for your people. You’re a good man, Derek, just like your father.” John ushered Derek inside, where he saw the hanging tapestries that used to adorn the walls of the keep. They survived, at least. The windows were open throughout the house, letting sunlight in, showing well worn fabrics on the chairs and wall tapestries. Stilinski was an old, wealthy family, but even they seemed to be on harder times, judging by Stilinski’s clothes themselves. “Tell me of the war.” John sat in a chair by the empty fireplace, extending a hand out, offering Derek a chair across from him. 

“There isn’t much to say, Sir,” Derek said. “It was bloody, never ending. I was an archer, but I saw plenty close up. I’d be dead a thousand times over if not for Boyd, who has come with me back here... I thought to offer him a place on my land, if he wished, but I fear my predicament isn’t what I thought it was going to be upon my return.” 

“I bet not,” John said. He sighed, looking around the room. “I’ll be frank with you, Derek, because I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and I’ve known you since you were born: tread the line. Argent isn’t going to be easy on you, and you need to keep your head down if you want to keep your life.” 

“Of course,” Derek said. 

“I know I wasn’t a perfect sheriff,” John said, and Derek almost interrupted him to disagree but John put up a hand, stopping him. “But Argent is brutal, will crush anyone who so much as disagrees with him. Don’t give him reason to look at you twice.” 

Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, sir.” 

A creak behind him got Derek’s attention, and both he and John looked up to find Stiles lurking barely in sight. Well, he wasn’t lurking so much as purposefully eavesdropping by leaning against a door frame with his arms crossed. 

“You speak as if keeping one's head down will help anything,” Stiles stated, clearly rehashing an old argument with his father. “Derek already has Argent’s attention. We could use it to our benefit.”

“How so?” Derek asked. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but John stopped him. 

“Stiles.” 

“We can’t just stand by--”

“Don’t,” John said, his voice firm. Stiles clenched his jaw, his eyes avoiding Derek’s. John turned his attention by to Derek. “Please join us for dinner, Derek. The McCalls are due to arrive soon, and I believe they’ve wanted a chance to speak with you.” 

“I’d be honored,” Derek said, even though Stiles visibly bristled at his acceptance. Derek gave a confused look at Stiles’ prickly demeanor. “It’s just before midday, so if it’s alright with you, I’ll return just after nightfall.” 

“That would be perfect.” 

Derek stood before being dismissed. He was surprised to find that Stiles followed him out, his eyes squinting at the sunlight. Stiles wore much of the same ensemble as he had before, though he wore well worn bracers on his wrists, a dagger at his thigh, another in his boot that wasn’t hidden. They stood there in silence as Derek’s horse was brought to him. Stiles breathed with intent, as if he wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. 

“The last time we spoke, before I left for war--”

“What’s past is past,” Stiles said. Derek shook his head, his hands on his hips. “I was foolish; a child.”

“You aren’t a child now,” Derek pointed out, because it was the truth. The Stiles Derek remembered was a brat, a scrawny son of the sheriff who spoke out of turn and didn’t think of consequences to his actions. The man before Derek now still had some of that spark, but Stiles seemed more reserved, though energy simmered beneath his skin. Derek was drawn to him, despite knowing it wasn’t a good idea. Against his better judgement, Derek reached out for Stiles, putting a kind hand on his shoulder. “I regret my last words to you,” Derek whispered. 

Stiles bit his lip, refusing to look Derek in the eye. 

“At dinner tonight,” Stiles said, changing the topic. “Do not bring up word of the Night Watchman in front of my father.” 

“I wouldn’t think to,” Derek said, brow furrowed. “Why is it to be avoided?” Stiles looked to Derek’s hand, which was still on his shoulder. Derek dropped it, clenching his fist. When Stiles’ eyes locked with his, Derek inhaled sharply. Stiles’ eyes were hardened against something, against him perhaps. 

“My father thinks it’s foolish, what the Night Watchman does. I know you agree with him, but I don’t want to start a fight at the dinner table. If you bring it up, I will fight you on the matter,” Stiles said with fervor, the issue hot on his tongue. “For both of our sakes, avoid the issue.”

“As you wish,” Derek said, his heart beat harsh against his chest as Stiles continued to look at him as if searching his very soul. It was unsettling, but Derek didn’t wish it to end. Stiles reached out past Derek, his bracer brushing Derek’s shoulder as his fingers grazed across his arrow’s fletching. “Do you remember when you taught me to shoot?”

 

“Yes,” Derek said, their nearness intoxicating as it once had been. A ghost of a smile appeared across Stiles’ lips. “It was the only time you were quiet.” 

Stiles’ eyes softened as his hand dropped. “I bet I could beat you, now.” 

“I doubt it, but you could try.” 

Stiles’s small smile turned into a smirk as he stepped away from Derek. It was something about the way he walked, the air around him shifting, as if he sucked the air itself from Derek’s own lungs. 

“You need to think not only of your own people, but of the whole of Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, looking out across the countryside around them. “If we don’t change what’s happening, it will only get worse.” 

“I don’t see how I can do anything to change Argent.” 

Stiles’ demeanor shifted once more, the wall going up, his mask returning, his smile disappearing. Derek yearned for it to come back as the distance between them grew once more. 

“Good bye, Derek. Until tonight.” 

Once Derek returned home, he found visitors waiting for him. There was a man, surrounded by sheriff’s guards, on their horses in the middle of his small hamlet, aggravating his tenants. The guards didn’t have their swords drawn, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hostile. Derek wondered when his mind began thinking that the guards weren’t on his side, perhaps when they didn’t seem to protect the people, merely the money. 

Derek dismounted with ease, walking up to the obvious man in charge. By the look of him, with his fine clothing and sneer on his face, Derek thought him to be a tax collector. Derek’s jaw clenched; he had no coin, nothing to hand over. He felt helpless, but didn’t show it. 

“Can I help you?” Derek asked. 

“We’re here on behalf of the sheriff. Hale land is behind on taxes, and I’m to collect.” 

“I’ve only just gotten back,” Derek said. “If you come back tomorrow--”

“There is no leniency, lordling,” the collector smirked. Derek grimaced at the term, used as if he was a child. Battle-hardened, he shrugged it off, but remained tense under scrutiny. “Lahey, who is under your protection, owes the crown. I have a writ to bring him in.” Derek was handed said writ by one of the guards. There, in writing, it stated how much he owed and the fact that he was to be brought to the Keep in irons. There was nothing Derek could do about it. 

“My father left me in debt,” Isaac said, suddenly by Derek’s side, his voice hushed and in a hurry. “He gambled, sir. Please, I didn’t--”

“I can do nothing,” Derek said, bereft as Isaac’s eyes widened, hope leaving him as the guards dismounted. 

“Please,” Isaac asked again. “Sir.” Derek closed his eyes as Isaac was shackled and made to walk behind the horses, his head hung low. 

Erica ran up to Derek, along with Boyd, after the guards began to walk off. The collector remained, eyeing Derek. 

“The tax is still owed,” they said. “We will return tomorrow for another body, any body, until you pay up.” 

“That is just--” Erica snarled as she stepped forward. Boyd stopped her, grabbing her arms to hold her back. She spat at the ground in anger. 

“Derek--” Boyd began but Derek shook his head, thinking. He had no sway with the Sheriff, no way of paying up. 

“Sir Jackson ran this land into the ground,” Erica raged. “He used the land and then didn’t pay the taxes on it. It was under his protection in your family’s absence. He lives in luxury while we starve.” 

Derek bit his lip, looking down the dirt road as Isaac disappeared. He thought about Stiles’ words, about how he would soon see how some seed and livestock would do nothing to help his people, and he’d been right. 

“Boyd, come with me. I need to draft a letter and I want you to send a messenger to Stilinski,” Derek said, walking towards the house. 

“What sort of letter?” Boyd asked. 

“One of apology, for I’m not going to make his dinner this evening.” 

As the sun set, Derek prepared to depart, with Boyd beside him. He was in his darkest clothes, a hood over his head. He looked like a brigand, but he supposed that was the point. He knew the Whittemore estate well, and he guessed that Jackson wouldn’t be home, would be at another estate for a dinner much like Stilinski’s. He merely wanted the money that his land was owed, nothing more. He didn’t consider it stealing when it belonged to them in the first place. 

Boyd, too, dressed in dark clothes. 

“We went from respectable to thieves rather quickly,” Boyd pointed out. 

Derek laughed, though it was forced. “How is it thieving when we are merely taking what belongs to us?” Derek asked. “This will get Isaac out of the stocks and will get the sheriff off our backs, and I doubt the amount that we are taking from Jackson would run amiss, not if he is as well off as I suspect him being.”

“Whatever you say,” Boyd said as they set out. They barely made it off the property when Erica caught up with them, her hair tucked up in a hood. She wore boy’s clothes, her face fierce. 

“Erica, no,” Derek stated. 

“I’m coming,” she said. “You can’t stop me, sir.” Derek almost told her that yes, he could, but he didn’t have it in him. It would be good to have a look out with them. He nodded his head, then put his finger to his mouth to ensure silence. They didn’t want to be seen, or heard. It took time to get to the Whittemore estate, going through woods without horses, but Derek knew a shortcut away from pathways. He hadn’t used it in years but before he’d been sent off to war, he had spent all of his time out in the woods, thinking himself a woods guide despite his upbringing. 

“Great houses like this one would have a small treasury room,” Derek whispered. “Probably connected to the master bedroom. We haven’t a key.” 

“I don’t need a key,” Erica pointed out. She showed Derek a handful of lock picks. He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “Don’t give me that look. Just help me get up there.” 

“How did you even know--” Derek began, but Erica urged him to shush by pressing her finger against his lips. Boyd snorted, then began walking towards the house in the darkness. Together, they hoisted Erica up as far as they could, then she was on her own, climbing onto a lower roof to get to the second floor. Once she disappeared, Derek began to worry. 

“I don’t like this,” he whispered harshly. “She shouldn’t be up there alone.” 

“She knows what she’s doing,” Boyd assured him. 

“Thieving isn’t something I condone.” 

“Says the thief,” Boyd pointed out, poking Derek in the shoulder. “She has a skill we need, be grateful. Neither of us would have been able to get in without brute force.” 

“I’m going to be a look out,” Derek grumbled. “I’ll shoot anyone who gets in the way.” 

“Adding murder to the charges so soon?” Derek glared at Boyd, shaking his head. 

“Did I say kill? No. I said shoot. I’m done killing.” 

Derek walked back towards the treeline, readying his bow by knocking an arrow, ready. He watched the house for signs of struggle but there was nothing but silence. When a figure appeared in the window, Derek breathed a sigh of relief. Erica jumped down easily, with Boyd helping her off the lower roof. They ran over to him with smiles on their faces. 

“I did it, oh my god,” she said, practically jumping up and down. “I put everything back, and Derek-- there is so much,” she said, wide-eyed. “We could go back and get arm fulls and he wouldn’t notice.” 

“We came for what was owed to us,” Derek said as Erica showed him a small bag she grabbed, full of coin. “That is-- more.” 

“It was the smallest bag,” she said, clutching it to her chest. “Can we get Isaac with this?” 

“I think so,” Derek said, ushering them away from the scene of the crime. “Come on, let’s go.” 

There was a letter waiting for Derek upon his return, from Stilinski. He put the money bag on his desk, sitting in a chair with a candle for light, opening the sealed letter. It was short, but contained two letters within. One had another seal on it, though it also bore the Stilinski crest. 

The first read: _I hope that my son did not offend you this afternoon. I extend to you an invitation to dinner for tomorrow night, or the night after. We must keep our heads about us. Long live the King, John Stilinski._

__The second was from Stiles, his messy scrawl making Derek grin as he read over the words: _I challenge you to an archery contest. Name the time and place.__ _

____Derek sat back in his chair, lounging as he reread Stiles’ words, his fingers ghosting over his lips as his leg bounced. He closed his eyes, wondering, thinking. It was a bad idea, daydreaming. Derek had responsibilities, had a bag of stolen money on his desk. He needed to think of his people, not of Stiles Stilinski. With a sigh, he dipped pen in ink, and began to write a response. To save on paper, also since he had none, he responded below Stilinski and Stiles’ own words. He would be by for dinner the next night, with apologies for missing that evening’s. As for Stiles’, he merely wrote 'noon, Hale estate'._ _ _ _

____He stayed up until dawn, unable to sleep, sending a messenger boy as soon as he saw someone awake on the grounds. He went to the keep, dressed in his best, with coin in hand for taxes and Isaac.The barrister was surprised, seemingly despondent to let Isaac go but there was no reason not to, not when Derek had paid the fine for him. They rode back to the estate in silence, Isaac holding tight to Derek. They hugged once they dismounted._ _ _ _

____“I owe you my life,” Isaac said, tears in his eyes. “Only one night in the stocks. How did you do it?” He asked. Derek smiled, shaking his head._ _ _ _

____“I will always try my hardest to keep you safe.” He knew that Erica would tell Isaac what they did, but he wanted to keep as few people involved as he could, in case everything when wrong. After, he slept for only a few hours before Stiles was due to arrive._ _ _ _

____Derek wore leather pants, laced up the front, with a linen shirt and leather vest. His own bracers were well worn from battle, but necessary to save his skin. A nose at his window got his attention. He opened the wooden door, pushing it outward to find Stiles below with rocks in his hand and a grin on his face. He had thrown a rock at his window._ _ _ _

____“You sleep the day away?” Stiles called up. He was in a good mood, it seemed._ _ _ _

____“Be down in a moment,” Derek shouted down. He ran wet fingers through his hair and over his face from a basin of water in his room, hoping it would wake him up. His face was full of stubble once more, but he didn’t have time to shave properly. He felt giddy, seeing Stiles in a good mood instead of closed off as he had been thus far in their meetings. It reminded him of Stiles before, his life before. Stiles knocking rocks against his window when they were younger, Stiles pulling Derek into the woods to play knights and dragons, to go searching for buried treasure, to--_ _ _ _

____Derek grabbed his bow and quiver, meeting Stiles by the barn. Stiles had taken it upon himself to set up their archery station, with makeshift targets of hay and cloth. Stiles himself wore his usual ensemble, though today his linen shirt hung around him untucked and the front laces undone. He wore no vest, with the sleeves rolled up. It was too big for him, but somehow made Derek’s mind thought it was somehow more revealing, his pale collarbone shown below the collar._ _ _ _

____“Who goes first?” Stiles asked._ _ _ _

____“What are we betting?” Derek countered._ _ _ _

____Stiles practically smirked at him, eyes twinkling._ _ _ _

____“If I win, you teach me to duel with a sword.”_ _ _ _

____“Fair enough,” Derek said, looking Stiles up and down because he was allowed to. His eyes didn’t linger, but Stiles looked him dead in the eye as if he knew, he had to know how Derek felt. “If I win, you tell me all you know of the Night Watchman.” Stiles' face fell minutely, but he nodded his head, offering his hand out for Derek to shake._ _ _ _

____“It’s a bet.”_ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update is: Moonday! Every Moonday. Because I'm sentimental like that.

Derek let Stiles go first, watching him draw the bow tight, concentrating on the makeshift target before letting go. He hit it straight on, grinning to himself as Derek whistled, allowing himself a smile of his own before taking Stiles’ spot before the target. As Derek cocked his arm back, pulling on the bow string, he blocked out his surroundings and his thoughts. When he let go, Stiles swore. 

His arrow split Stiles’ in two. 

“You cheat,” Stiles hissed, knocking Derek’s shoulder. 

“You can’t cheat at archery,” Derek noted with a laugh. Stiles scowled at him, but his face bore signs of his feint as he held back a laugh. “I’m just better than you.” 

“Nonsense,” Stiles said, shooting Derek a look. 

“How do you shoot under pressure?” Derek asked him. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Stiles asked, notching another arrow as he readied himself to shoot. Derek stepped forward, his face close to Stiles’. Derek saw Stiles visibly stiffen, hold his breath. 

“You’re a good marksman without anything happening around you, but what if you were in battle?”

“I’m not in battle, I’m in the middle of a contest,” Stiles pointed out, turning his head to look at Derek but he was too close. Stiles flushed, letting out a breath as he tried to concentrate once more. Derek took a step back, by remained within reach as Stiles got ready to let go. Derek flicked his ear, making the arrow disappear into the wood. Stiles rounded on him, eyes furious. 

“That-- that was cheating,” Stiles said as he reached out for Derek, laughing though his brow was drawn tight. He shoved at Derek. “How would you fair if I did the same?”

“You’re welcome to it,” Derek said, holding onto Stiles’ hand for only a moment before letting it drop. Stiles bit his lip, his eyes narrowing as if making up his mind. “I’m still winning.” 

“We’ll see,” Stiles said, crossing his arms as he stood near Derek who notched an arrow, thinking about the target. He knew Stiles would try something, but he didn’t know what. He expected a flick to the ear, a bow against his face, something of the sort. What he didn’t expect was Stiles’ breath on his neck. Derek shot, hitting the target, but only barely. With wide eyes he looked at Stiles in shock. 

Stiles’ cheeks were red, but otherwise he didn’t show signs of regret for what he’d just done. Derek looked around, seeing if anyone was paying them any attention at all, but they were alone. With his heart nearly beating out of his chest, Derek allowed Stiles to shoot without messing with him, putting him in the lead. Looking smug, Stiles bowed as he stepped out of Derek’s way for his next turn. Stiles was a fair distance from him now, so Derek didn’t think he would do anything to him for this round. He, of course, was wrong. Surprised at a touch between his legs, Derek flinched as he let go of the arrow. It was an accident, but it landed on target, next to Stiles’. Derek looked down to find Stiles’ bow between his legs. He’d thwacked him in the balls with his bow, and Stiles’ jaw was hanging open when he saw where Derek’s arrow landed. 

“You’re impossible!” Stiles said. Derek swatted the bow away but Stiles was there suddenly, right in his face. “You cheater.” 

“I’m no cheater,” Derek growled. Their foreheads could touch, if he only-- 

Stiles took a step back. 

“Best out of five.” 

“I won,” Derek said, pointing at the target. “Fair and square.” 

“I refuse,” Stiles stated, his lips pursed. 

“I won’t let you win just because you want me to,” Derek said. “You aren’t fourteen anymore.” 

“Exactly,” Stiles said, fire in his eyes as he said it. “I want to learn to fight, but my father says I don’t need to learn swordplay. You taught me archery, can’t you--”

“Tell me about the Night Watchman,” Derek said. “And I’ll teach you to fight.” Stiles hesitated, fingers deftly playing with his bow, his chest heaving as he avoided Derek’s gaze. 

“They--”

“Not out here,” Derek said, walking towards the house. “In private.” 

They sat inside, alone, sipping wine that Derek poured for them. Their chairs were pulled together to keep confidence, or so Derek told himself. Stiles’ lips were stained by the wine as he downed the glass. He poured himself another. 

“The Night Watchman is a man or woman who goes around to the poorest areas and provides food.”

“That’s what Erica said, but I know you know more. Tell me.” 

Stiles hesitated, sipping more of his wine. He sat back, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do you wish to know?” Stiles asked. 

“I want to talk to them,” Derek said. “I want to know where they are getting the food, and the coin. Is it being stolen? I want to repay them for what they’ve done.” 

“Repay?” Stiles asked with a laugh. “With what coin do you want to repay them? They don’t want anything in return.” 

“How do you know?” Derek asked, sitting forward. Stiles’ leg shook as he looked Derek up and down. “Stiles, please.”

“I know how to get messages to them,” Stiles grumbled.

“I knew it,” Derek said. “Can you give them a message from me?” 

“What is it?” Stiles asked. Derek gave him a look. 

“I’ll write it,” Derek stated. “If you could deliver it.”

“You’ve my word, if you just tell it to me. A paper trail isn’t a good idea.” Derek thought about it, shaking his head. 

“Tell them I wish to meet with them, but that there is no need for them to keep supplying my estate with food. I have it covered.” 

“How so?” Stiles asked. “I told you that the livestock you bought wasn’t enough, Derek.” Stiles fists were clenched, his wine forgotten on the table beside them. “You can’t expect--”

“Stiles,” Derek said, reaching his hand out and placing it on Stiles’ knee to calm him. “I am grateful for your concern, but please, just tell them I wish to speak with them.” Stiles looked away from him, down at his hand which Derek withdrew. 

“Alright,” Stiles said. “It could be a few days. They will come to you, but don’t-- don’t make this difficult.” 

“How do you mean?” Derek asked. 

“Don’t mess with a good thing, Derek. The Night Watchman helps those in need.”

“I can see that,” Derek said, shaking his head. “I just--- I just want to talk with them.” He thought about the bag of coin upstairs, about Isaac’s face when he freed him that morning. He has an idea, but he’s not sure he could go through with it, not really; not alone. Something told him that the Night Watchman was who he needed to talk with first. 

Stiles groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “I must be off, my father expects me. I’ll see you tonight, then?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Derek said before leading Stiles to the door. Stiles stilled before walking out, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly as his eyes caught Derek’s. 

“You know, don’t you?” Stiles asked. “You know how much you leaving hurt me.” Derek nodded his head numbly, his stomach dropping. “I grew up while you were gone,” Stiles said, looking down at his shoes. “I had to learn fast, with everything that happened. When Argent took over, I didn’t know what to do. I used to come here, up to your room.” Stiles took something out of the bag that hung from his belt, a pennant. “I took this,” Stiles said, his voice catching in his throat. “You should have it back.” Derek held his hand out for it, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was his family’s crest, molded from silver. Stiles turned from him, leaving him in silence. It enveloped Derek, practically drowning him with the loss of Stiles’ presence. 

He put the pennant on, his hand resting over it as he walked back outside, watching as Stiles mounted his horse. Derek watched him until he disappeared down the road before he joined Isaac and Boyd. 

Boyd gave Derek a look, with his arms crossed. 

“He’s going to talk to the Night Watchman,” Derek said. Isaac looked at the pennant, then at Derek. “Then we’re going to see how far they want to go with helping those in need.” 

Dinner at the Stilinski estate wasn’t a grand affair that it would have once been at the keep, though Derek was surprised to find Alan Deaton in attendance and seated next to him during the meal. 

“Derek,” Alan said, giving Derek a kind smile. “I have been meaning to stop by your estate, but haven’t been able to yet.” 

“We’re all busy,” Derek said curtly. 

“I’m glad you’ve returned and your family can continue on,” Alan said. Derek exchanged looks with Stiles who was downing more wine, then refilling it. Beside Stiles sat Scott McCall, eyeing Derek studiously. 

“Are you thinking about marriage?” 

Stiles coughed, choking on wine at Alan’s question, but Derek merely shrugged. 

“I’ve no intention to marry,” Derek stated. “Especially right now. I have more important things to think about, like my family’s land, and my people.” Deaton hummed as he thought about Derek’s words. Derek didn’t look at Stiles, because if he did he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

“One would think a marriage would be advantageous; a joining of two families.”

“What are you suggesting, Alan?” John asked from the head of the table. Across from Derek, Scott stabbed his meat as if he’d wanted to do the very same to Derek. He wasn’t sure why. 

“The oldest Argent daughter is still unwed.” 

“Excuse me?” Stiles said, speaking up. John gave Stiles a look, picking up his wine glass again, pointedly avoiding Derek’s gaze. 

Derek picked up his own, holding back a laugh. 

“I’ve no intention of courting an Argent.” 

“It would be a smart move,” John said. Stiles glared, then drank. Derek poured himself more wine, avoiding everyone’s gaze because everywhere he looked there was something he didn’t want to confront. 

Melissa McCall, Scott’s mother, thankfully spoke up. 

“I think that would be suicide,” she stated. “Kate Argent is as bad as her father. She’s brutal, and Derek, although battle hardened I’m sure, simply looks as though she would eat him alive.” 

“There is the younger one, Allison--”

“No,” Scott and Stiles both said at once, exchanging glances. Both John and Melissa raised their eyebrows. “I think Argents in general should be avoided,” Stiles mumbled. 

“Alan, tell us, how are the other counselors fairing?” John asked in a change of topic. Derek found talk of the Keep to be nothing but an earful of lies when coming from Deaton, for he didn’t speak of the taxes, of the unfairness, the poverty. He merely spoke of topical things. 

Before he knew it, Derek was bidding goodnight to everyone, somewhat south of sober thanks to drinking copious amounts of wine. Stiles seemed worse off than him as he hung on Scott before he and Melissa climbed into a carriage. 

“Would you like a ride to your estate?” Melissa asked Derek. 

“No, but thank you for the offer,” Derek said, giving them a wave. Deaton left by carriage as well, nodding at Derek as he shut the door. Derek sighed as soon as they were out of sight. Stiles, too, hung on the door as if it was holding him up. 

“Why did you drink so much?” Derek asked. “It caused me to drink as well.”

“I don’t see how my drinking would encourage you to follow,” Stiles spat, his eyes closing as he continued to lean expertly. “I needed it to get through that monstrosity.” 

“I don’t want to speak of it,” Derek groaned. 

“Help me upstairs,” Stiles said, reaching out blindly. 

“I doubt I’ll be of much help,” Derek whispered as Stiles flung himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around him. Derek grunted, reaching out to the wall to steady them both. Stiles laughed against Derek’s neck, fingers clutching Derek’s shirt. 

Derek helped him up the stairs and into his room where Stiles started stripping. Derek averted his eyes, his body reacting to the sight. 

“Stiles--”

“It’s too hot,” Stiles whined, struggling with his lace front pants as he fell onto the bed, kicking at his boots. Derek rolled his eyes, not paying attention to the fact that Stiles was shirtless and writhing on his bed as he got Stiles’ boots off of him. Stiles stopped moving, his legs falling open as Derek dropped them, his hands on his stomach. Derek could see him breathing as he looked at him. 

“I’m going,” Derek rasped, his chest heaving as he ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t bear it as he turned away from Stiles. 

“Stay,” Stiles said. When Derek turned back around, Stiles had pushed himself up onto his elbows, his face open and Derek wanted nothing more than to do as Stiles wished. 

“I cannot,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Your father will kill us both.” 

“Derek--”

“We aren’t children,” Derek said, louder than he had intended. “We cannot share a bed.” Stiles threw himself back onto the bed, burying his face in his pillow as he screamed in frustration. “We aren’t children, as you’ve pointed out to me numerous times since my return home.” Stiles turned his head, looking at Derek with tears in his eyes. 

“You’re leaving again.”

“No,” Derek assured him. “I mean, yes, for the night, but I’m not leaving you.” 

Stiles covered his eyes with a hand, taking a deep breath, betraying how affected he was. Derek felt it in his bones, the ache of pure want without being able to act on it. He felt words on the tip of his tongue that he wasn’t able to say, so he bit his bottom lip as he looked away from him. Silence hung heavy in the air between them when a servant walked in, surprised to find Derek there. 

“Sir Hale,” they said, bowing their head. “Are you staying the night?” 

Derek knew he shouldn’t, so he shook his head even though in his heart he wanted nothing more than to stay. 

“I’m just now leaving,” he whispered. He left, though the wine still coursed through his veins, unable to look at Stiles anymore, with his resolve quickly crumbling. When he made it back to his home, he took himself in hand, choking back a sob as he thought of Stiles, his legs spread as he lay on his bed, asking Derek to stay. 

The next day, Derek slept in until his head was clear, his mind on the task at hand: taking care of his people. He burnt Jackson’s money bag, putting what coin was left in his own, destroying the evidence of their thievery. He spent the day writing letters to his family’s former allies, people they called friends, calling upon them to see if they would step forward and help him, though he knew they most likely would not, with his family name now sullied. 

At dusk, Derek made his way towards the drop off point, where he asked Stiles to have the Night Watchman meet him. He didn’t want to miss their meeting, if indeed Stiles had done as he promised. Derek didn’t have long to wait before the Night Watchman appeared empty handed. 

Derek stood straight, sizing them up as they approached in the gathering darkness. They wore a hood, along with a piece of fabric that covered their face, leaving only their eyes visible. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” Derek said. He had his stolen coin with him to repay what he could to the Night Watchman, but was unsure of how he would broach the subject. 

Instead of speaking, they merely nodded their head. 

“I wanted to tell you that I appreciate what you’ve been doing for my people, and that I want to pay you back,” Derek said reluctantly. He offered the small bag of coin, but the Night Watchman didn’t reach out for it. 

“That’s not necessary,” they said, their voice deep. 

“What if I insist?” Derek asked. 

“Then I’d tell you that I don’t want your money, when you need it more than I do.” 

“Who are you?” Derek asked, stepping closer. 

“That’s not important,” they said, eyes narrowing. “What matters is that I fight for the oppressed, help the poor. Tell me, Sir Hale, what are you doing to help those who need it most?” 

“I’m--” Derek clenched his fists. He wasn’t going to fight this masked man. He thought about Stiles’ scathing remarks, who he assumed Derek was against him helping the poor. “I’m doing the best I can with what little I’ve been left with.” 

“You won’t be able to hold out,” the Night Watchman stated. “You have to fight.” 

“I feel as though I’ve been fighting my entire life,” Derek said, exhaling. “Where are you getting the food you hand out?” 

“Not important,” they answered. 

“It is,” Derek said. “It is important. Are you taking from others? Or are you a nobleman sharing what he already owns?” 

“I don’t steal,” the Watchman said. Derek’s shoulders sagged. “But I’m no nobleman.” 

“I don’t understand,” Derek said. “Help me to understand, and I’ll help as best I can.” 

“I’ll be in touch,” the Night Watchman said before turning away from Derek. Derek, impatient, reached out for their arm. The Night Watchman reacted, twisting Derek’s arm until Derek knelt on the ground in mild pain. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered harshly. “I was told to trust you, but you’ve shown me no reason to do so. This isn’t a game, Sir Hale. This is life and death, with the noose as punishment if I fail. Do not start this if you don’t wish to forfeit your own life.” 

Derek’s arm was let go, and he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the Night Watchman walked off into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek had been in the field when the screams started. They came from one of his cottages, and from where he was he could see horsemen, along with a struggle. He ran as fast as he could, leaving behind his tools and his shirt, which he had discarded some time in the midday heat. 

He arrived to the small skirmish, where Isaac was being held back by Boyd, along with a crying woman whose husband was being shackled by one of the sheriff’s guardsmen. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Derek asked, enraged as he stepped forward. The woman wailed as she clung to Derek, begging for him to help her husband. He looked to the guards for an answer, but he saw it before anyone could speak: there, by the cottage, was a strung up dead deer. It was illegal to kill one of the king’s deer. Derek closed his eyes to steady himself, to drown out the woman’s cries. He knew he could do nothing for her husband. 

“By the order of the Sheriff, anyone caught hunting illegally will be brought in for execution.” 

“Execution?” Derek seethed. “The law is the loss of a hand, or fingers, not a life,” Derek spat. 

“The law has since been changed,” the guard said as he kicked Derek back. Staggering to stay on his feet, Derek stumbled back. He couldn’t even look at the woman, so instead he concentrated on her husband instead. “We should bring you in as well, since this is your land. You should take responsibility for your people.” 

“Oh, believe me, I’ll be following you to the keep,” Derek hissed. The guard spat at the ground before they took off. 

“Boyd--”

“You can’t be serious,” Boyd said, wide-eyed. “You can’t go up against this--”

“I can, and I will,” Derek said indignantly. He got a clean shirt before setting off with Boyd to the keep, where a crowd was already gathering. He forced himself towards the front, until a hand grabbed his own, yanking him back. Stiles was there, his face drawn and serious. 

“Stiles, let go.” 

“Don’t,” Stiles said, clutching at Derek’s hand, not letting go. “Don’t openly defy him, Derek.”

“He took one of my men.”

“I know,” Stiles whispered. “But there’s nothing you can do.” 

“I can’t stand by while he kills someone who should only lose a finger, or at most a hand. I can’t--” Stiles cupped Derek’s face with his hands, making Derek still. Stiles’ eyes were watering as he shook his head. 

“Derek, listen to me,” Stiles hastened. “If you step up there, if you fight this, you’ll be killed. You’ll be shot down. Please, I beg you.”

Derek looked up at the gallows, so far standing empty in the courtyard, but guards stood by at the ready. Slowly, prisoners were brought out, and Derek took a step forward. Boyd put a hand on Derek’s shoulder as Stiles stepped in front of him, getting in Derek’s line of sight. 

“You have to pick your battles, Derek,” Stiles urged him. “Facing Argent head on isn’t it.” 

“What do you know of battles?” Derek said, his face hardening. Stiles, his eyes wide for a second, scowled at him. 

“You have no idea,” Stiles sneered, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You think that a bit of seed will help your people? Look,” Stiles pointed at the gallows. “Look, Derek, because this isn’t going to be the last time that this happens to someone you know.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” Derek asked. “Tell me, Stiles. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to stop thinking about _only_ your people,” Stiles said, lowering his voice. “I want you to think of everyone.” 

“What are you doing to help them?” Derek asked him. Stiles’ cheeks flushed as he looked away. “Are you too scared to do anything yourself?” Stiles glared daggers at him, before walking away into the crowd, disappearing like he hadn’t been there at all. 

“Derek,” Boyd said as Derek tried to step forward once more. “Stiles is right. You’ll be hung as an example.” 

Derek stood there, helpless, as he watched one of his people hang for killing a deer. He’d wanted to look away, but felt as though he owed it to them to watch, like it would make some sort of difference. In the end, it only made Derek angrier. 

Stiles didn’t show up to the Hale estate until days later as Derek handed Boyd a few coins to go to the market with Isaac for supplies. Approaching on a horse, Stiles dismounted, then tied off the reigns on a nearby fence post. 

“I’ve just come from the keep,” Stiles said, slightly out of breath. “I overheard a conversation that you’ll want to hear.” 

Derek nodded his goodbye to Boyd, ushering Stiles inside the house. They walked in silence across the dirt road that lead up to the house, with Derek’s hand on the small of Stiles’ back. Stiles didn’t swat it away or step out of Derek’s reach. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh. 

Once inside, Derek poured Stiles a glass of water. Stiles downed it immediately, avoiding Derek’s eyes. They hadn’t parted under friendly words in the courtyard, and that itself had Derek worried as Stiles paced the room. 

“What did you hear?” Derek asked eventually. 

“Argent intends to--” Stiles groaned, as if not wanting to tell Derek. “He doesn’t want any sort of uproar, Derek. No dissent.” 

“Okay?” 

“He intends to use you as an example, like he did the rest of your family.” Derek’s stomach dropped. 

“How do you know this?” 

“I overheard,” Stiles restated. “I was in there.” 

“How? Why were you there? You aren’t on the council.” Stiles took a step back, looking cornered as Derek crowded him. “Stiles, what were you doing there?” 

“Spying,” Stiles whispered. Derek grimaced, his eyes closing. Stiles was putting himself in danger, listening in on private conversations between the Sheriff and his counselors. “I need to know what’s happening.” 

“Stiles, you could be killed.” 

“So?” Stiles said. “Derek, he’s going to kill you.” 

“I haven’t done anything,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles reached out tentatively, cupping Derek’s cheek with one hand. Derek leaned into it, his lips brushing across Stiles’ palm before turning away, stepping back from the touch. “You shouldn’t be spying.” 

Stiles’ brow furrowed, his lips pursed and jaw clenched tight in anger. 

“Yes, I should. Someone needs to stop him. I came here because I care, Derek. I don’t want you dead. I already lost you once, like hell I’m losing you again.” Stiles pushed at Derek, not enough to stagger Derek, but he could tell Stiles needed to let it out. He poked Derek’s shoulder harshly. “I’m not watching you hang, Derek.” 

“Alright,” Derek said in a hushed tone, putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. He pulled Stiles to him. They embraced, with Derek’s arms wrapped around him as Stiles clung to him, relaxing against his body. “What charges is he going to bring against me?” 

“He said he’d do any infraction,” Stiles mumbled. “Anything at all.” Derek took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to hold Stiles. 

That night, after Stiles left, Derek decided to strike against Argent. He gathered Boyd, Erica, and Isaac once more. Together they scouted the Argent estate, and the house, before Gerard himself moved to the keep. It was still inhabited by the rest of the family; would be where they kept their family’s money. 

“We are only watching,” Derek reminded them. “I want to see what we can learn.” 

“We should wait until late, once everyone is asleep,” Erica suggested. “Or when there is a party. If there is a party, we could hit all of the estates in one night.” 

Erica had a point. 

They took note of the amount of guards, when their shifts were over, and what time the house went dark. They didn’t have to wait long for a party to be announced, since it was Kate Argent’s birthday and the sheriff wanted to celebrate. What Derek hadn’t been expecting was an invitation for himself. 

“I’ll decline,” Derek said, tossing the invitation onto his desk. Boyd scoffed as Erica lounged on one of the chairs. Isaac stood by the unlit fireplace, tugging at his lower lip. 

“If you’re at the party, you can’t be caught,” Isaac pointed out. “It’s perfect.” 

Derek didn’t like it, but he supposed he could be a decoy. Or he could make the most of it, and see if he could take anything while he was there. 

“Remember, do not take so much that it would be noticed,” he said. “Only skim the top. No jewels, because those can be recognized. Gold, if you can manage, or silverware that can be melted down and remolded.”

“You’re starting to think like a proper thief,” Erica said with a grin. “I like it.” 

The party was lavish, and it had so much food that it angered Derek, knowing that most of the people that surrounded the keep wouldn’t see this much food in their entire lives while the few that were at the party would merely throw it away afterwards. Perhaps Derek should go talk with the cooks, see if they could save it-- 

Derek spotted Stiles, beside his father, looking the best he’d seen him to date. He wore a fitting coat, his clothes clean and hair out of his face. It distracted him, so he decided to approach them. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, his face betraying his feelings for a moment before reining his feelings in. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“As am I with you,” Derek stated, picking up a glass of wine off of a tray as a servant walked by. Stiles had one himself, but it was still full and untouched. Derek took note of it as he sipped his own. Stiles wasn’t drinking, and he wanted to know why. 

Stiles danced, a lot. He walked up to maidens who were without a partner, song after song, and asked them to dance. There wasn’t a song that Stiles didn’t dance to, and he even asked Lydia Martin on multiple occasions, laughing all the while as they chatted. Derek found it difficult not to watch him ingratiate himself in the court, like he didn’t despise their wealth. He was good at lying, Derek found. Derek was about to skip out of the party when Kate Argent stopped in front of him, her smile wide. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, offering out her hand. Derek looked from her to Stiles, who caught sight of Derek, his face set in a frown. Derek took her hand, kissing it as he bowed politely. 

“Derek Hale at your service,” he said as he stood back up straight. Kate’s eyes sparkled in recognition. 

“Oh, Sir Hale. I remember you well before the war. You certainly grew up nicely,” she stated, looking him over. “Dance with me.” 

Much to his chagrin, Derek danced, leading Kate onto the dance floor. In his periphery, Derek could see Stiles, who was still dancing, once more with Lydia Martin, keeping close to Derek without making it too obvious. He tried not to look at Kate, but didn’t want to incite the sheriff’s anger. 

Or perhaps merely dancing with her would do just that. Derek looked at Kate’s neck where a beautiful necklace hung, plunging down her neckline. When he glanced back up at her eyes, she smirked at him. 

“I find it difficult to find a suitable dance partner,” she said, not breaking eye contact with Derek. “But you’re surprisingly light on your feet. I want you for myself for the rest of the night.” Derek gave her a small smile, nodding his head in acceptance. If he got close to her, then the sheriff might think twice before hanging Derek. Or it would get him a swifted drop. Kate had a hand on Derek’s lower back, and he with a hand on hers. 

“You’re quiet,” she commented.

“Concentrating on the steps, is all. I’m out of practice,” Derek said with a tight smile.

“So modest,” she practically cooed as the song ended. Derek looked around for Stiles, but couldn’t find him. So much for scoping the place out while he was at the party. He could only hope that Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were having more luck that he was. 

By the time the party was dying down, Derek’s feet ached, his hands cramping from holding Kate’s hand so much. He hadn’t seen Stiles until he reappeared during the last dance, this time dancing with Allison Argent, though they talked throughout, heads looking down at their feet in order to give them more privacy. 

“You may think me forward,” Kate said, bringing Derek’s attention back to her instead of on Stiles. “But I’d very much like you to call upon me tomorrow.” 

“I would, but I’m afraid that I would sully your family name with my own,” Derek said. “If we were to see each other outside of a party, I fear your father would not approve.” Instead of dissuading her, this only seemed to entice her more. “I am not in his good graces.” 

“Let me deal with him,” she said, straightening Derek’s jacket, her hand resting on his chest afterwards. “Come to the Argent estate tomorrow. We’ll take a turn around the garden.” 

“If you wish,” Derek said. It would give him the opportunity to get inside the estate, see the layout. 

Stiles was there as Derek got his horse from the stable. It was obvious he had been waiting for Derek as they both mounted at the same time. It wasn’t until they were out of the keep that Stiles spoke. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. 

“It was a party, Stiles, I danced, just like you did.” 

“You danced with Kate Argent,” Stiles pointed out. 

“You danced with Allison Argent, and Lydia Martin on more than one occasion.” 

“Jealous?” Stiles asked, glaring at Derek. 

“No,” Derek feigned. “You deserve happiness.” Stiles scoffed. “What? You do.” 

“My happiness has nothing to do with my dancing,” Stiles retorted. “It’s political.” 

“What? You dancing with every young woman within fifty miles?” 

“Don’t think for a moment that you understand my motives,” Stiles hissed. “You-- you have no idea--”

“Then please enlighten me, Stiles, by all means.” 

“You can’t dance with Kate Argent,” Stiles grumbled. “You’re stepping into a dragon’s den.” 

“I’m to see her tomorrow,” Derek said, though he wasn’t sure why. Stiles’ face darkened, his grip tightening on the reigns. “Now who is jealous.” 

Derek watched Stiles’ chest rise and fall rapidly as he looked away from Derek. He knew it wasn’t fair, none of it was. This dance that he and Stiles did around each other wasn’t fair to either one of them, but he knew he couldn’t act upon it. They’d both be killed. 

“I hate you,” Stiles spat. “I hate you so, so much.” 

Derek regretted telling Stiles, but he regret it even more when Stiles turned around to head to his own estate when they’d both been heading towards Derek’s. It was for the best, Derek thought. It was always for the best. 

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were waiting for Derek upon his arrival. They’d brought in more than Derek thought they would, but assured him that they only skimmed the top of whatever they found. 

“It’s exhilarating,” Isaac said, looking at the loot. “Do you realize how many people we can help with this?”

“We’re like the Night Watchman, but with money,” Erica said, her hands digging into the gold. “Can we hand it out? I want to hand it out.”

“Of course,” Derek said. “I wish I could have joined you.” He wanted to join his friends, wanted to be as much a part of this as he could be. 

He ended up not going to the Argent estate. Instead, he and Erica divvied up the gold into small pouches to hand out. They spent the entire day handing them out to the surprise of many of the smaller surrounding villages, handing the bags to children to give to their parents, or simply leaving the bags by the doorstep. 

When he returned home, empty handed, there was a letter waiting for him from Kate. He sat in his chair by the fire, eating a simple meal, when he opened it. She was cross with him, for standing her up. She made up an excuse for him, about being afraid of her father. She assured him that if he came to her the next day, he wouldn’t be in trouble with her. 

He wasn’t sure he liked what he’d gotten himself into.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be late in posting next week, as I'll be out of town (seeing years & years!!!!!) and I don't know when I'll be at a computer. Posting from my laptop is difficult with copying large amounts of text... <3

Derek wouldn’t consider it courting, not by any sense of the word, but he had not only gone to the Argent estate to visit Kate the next day, but he’d returned in the days afterwards as well. He didn’t consider it courting, because what he did was a farce. Derek memorized details, he tiptoed around Kate’s advances in order to get a glimpse of their wealth. 

He’d stumbled across an array of important documents, that he’d be hanged for if found, blatantly stating the sheriff’s corruption. The next day, he’d returned with tracing paper for it, but the document in question had since been destroyed, or hidden. Derek had to take a turn around the extensive gardens with Kate, silently frustrated in his bad luck. 

Their small goal of keeping Derek’s village afloat was no longer on Derek’s thoughts, but the entire surrounding countryside. Derek intended, with help of the Night Watchman, to help all of Beacon Hills. He didn’t sleep at night, discussing with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac what they should do. Derek spent his days with Kate, reluctantly. When he returned to his estate, he bathed and scrubbed himself clean, wishing above all else to be like everyone else around him: to not have such impure thoughts towards Stiles. 

Stiles, who he hadn’t seen in over a week. 

It was for the best, Derek thought, because he didn’t want Stiles to get swept up into the mess that he was making for himself. Stiles needed to keep away from the danger, and Derek would likely hang for what he was doing, and by Stiles’ very word Derek knew for a fact that it was exactly what the sheriff wanted with him. 

The Night Watchman was due to meet him once the sun fell, and Derek didn’t have much time to get back to his estate to meet him. He had taken supper with Kate, in her annex of the house, with reclining chaises and platters of finger foods that she wished to be placed in her mouth, her lips lingering on Derek’s own thumb as he obliged her. 

“You are always so silent,” she mused, laughing to herself as she licked her lips. She sat up from her reclining position, her fingers moving over a platter as she picked something up to hand feed Derek with. They were taking turns, and he wished for nothing more than for the ordeal to be overwith. “What troubles you so?” She asked as she brought a date up to his mouth. 

Derek took it into his mouth, but backed away in time before she could brush a finger across his lips. He flushed, thinking about how it would feel to have Stiles feed him so, or for him to feed Stiles as he lay across a chaise. Derek blinked, taking a long sip of wine. 

“Nothing to say, my lady,” he told her. His eyes cast around the room, landing on her jewelry box. He told everyone no jewelry, but his hands itched. She had brooches and necklaces, rings and bracelets enough for multiple households. It would be so easy to feed those in need if he were to take one simple ruby earring from her. “I’m afraid I must away, soon. I do dislike traveling by moonlight.” 

A lie, but a necessary one. 

“If you must,” she pouted, extending a hand out for him to kiss. Derek took her ringed hand in his, kissing it tenderly, as he slipped one of her rings off, keeping it in his hand. To distract her further, he kissed the inside of her wrist, and then her palm. When he looked her in the eye, he knew he’d fooled her. Her hand still had five rings on it, she wouldn’t notice until after he’d gone. 

“Have a good night, my lady.” 

“Do call on me again, Sir Hale,” she said as she dropped her hand to her skirts, setting them just so as she breathed, showing off her chest. Derek bowed as he stood, grabbing another date from the plate. He grinned at her as he popped it into his mouth. She laughed, clearly amused by him. 

“I will see you soon, I expect,” Derek said before taking his leave. A servant escorted him out. Once he was on his horse and a good distance from the estate did he look at the ring he managed to pilfer from her. Holding it up to the moonlight, he saw the jewels inlaid intricately. It would fetch a pretty penny, that’s for sure. 

He was late meeting the Night Watchman, who stood waiting for him in their usual meeting spot. Derek dismounted quickly, patting his horse who was quite content to graze on the surrounding grass. 

“A apologize for my tardiness,” Derek said, his hand patting his pocket where he placed the ring. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you since last we spoke.” 

“Have you any news?” They asked. 

“I have a plan,” Derek stated. “And I want to include you in it.” 

“And I should trust you?” The Night Watchman asked. “What have you done that should gain my trust?” 

“I’ve not the crops to share, but I do have the means to share wealth evenly across all of Beacon Hills. What I ask of you is to trust me, and I’ll do the same for you. You work in food, in goods, I work in pure gold.” Derek took out a small bag of gold he’d taken days before from a nobleman. The Night Watchman stared down at Derek’s hand as he poured the coin into it. “I’ve devised a way to repay our starving people the taxes that were taken from them. I skim off the top of the rich, only so much that they wouldn’t take notice of it, then redistribute it among our people.”

“You steal,” they stated, picking up a coin. “The great Derek Hale steals.”

“From the rich,” Derek pointed out. 

“You were once rich,” The Night Watchman said. 

Derek made a face. “And now I am destitute and left with land but no way to keep it running. I see the desperation around me, I see others fighting, and this is the only way I know how. Enough to survive, but not enough to cause suspicion.” 

“And you want me to help how?” The Night Watchman asked. 

“To help distribute, of course. If you already plan on handing out food, why not put a coin or two into each basket you deliver?” 

The Night Watchman crossed their arms, looking out into the dark countryside that surrounded them. The moon was full, and Derek could see enough to know that they were clearly thinking his plan over. 

“I want nothing more than to help those who need it. A friend of mine chastised me for not doing enough, and this is me offering what I can. I can continue to help only my land, but if I’ve the means-- I want to help all of Beacon Hills.” 

“How do you want to do this?” The Night Watchman asked. “I can’t meet you here, on your own land. It will be too dangerous to you and your people.” 

“What if we have a rendezvous point in the woods north of here. There are old trees, with knots and hidden caves. I could drop off the coins, and then you could come at a later time--”

“That could work,” the Night Watchman said, interrupting. Derek thought it a sign of excitement, or of agreement. The Night Watchman stepped forward, their hand out for Derek to take in his own. They shook on it. “We should meet tomorrow, before sundown, scout out the place.”

“I will bring Boyd,” Derek said. 

“Come alone,” The Watchman stated, his hand dropping. “The less people involved, the better.” 

“My group will need to know of the drop off point.”

“And so will mine,” the Watchman said. For the first time, Derek realized that the Night Watchman must not work alone. He hadn’t thought of that before. He’d assumed he worked alone. “But for our own safety, less numbers will be better. I know who you are, Derek, but you don’t know me. We need to keep a level of anonymity. If you are serious about your life in thievery, I suggest you do the same as me. For your own sake.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” 

“Meet me here, two hours before dusk.” 

“Consider it done.” 

Once Derek was back in his estate, he told his band of friends his plan. 

“Are we sure they won’t simply take it for themselves?” Boyd asked. “You’re asking us to drop off our gold to someone who we don’t even know?”

“I trust them,” Erica said. “They gave us food for almost a year.”

“I’m with Erica,” Isaac said, crossing his arms. “I’ll deliver the gold if you want.” 

“Thank you,” Derek said to Erica and Isaac. “Boyd, I want you to trail us tomorrow, in case something goes wrong. Stay back, though. I don’t want him knowing you’re following us.” 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Boyd said, clapping Derek on the back. “I trust your judgement.” 

Derek barely slept, but that wasn’t anything new. He worked his fields, he milked their cow, then helped Erica begin to make cheese. When the sun was high in the sky, he decided to wash up before heading to meet the Night Watchman. As soon as he was done dressing, a letter arrived for him from Kate. He knew her scrawling letters well by this point. He discarded it, tossing it onto his desk. He didn’t have time for her whims, not when he was to meet the Night Watchman in a few hours time. Derek ate the same as the rest of his people, which was a meager amount, but one they were all grateful for. It was a stew that Erica had made, with Isaac’s assistance, who had taken an interest in cooking when he had the time for it. Being the blacksmith, he rarely had time, but enjoyed his time in the kitchen just the same. 

The Watchman had arrived before Derek again, leaning against a tree as they waited. Together, they walked in silence into the woods, both of them with their bow and quivers over their backs. Derek didn’t so much as glance backwards where he knew Boyd was following. They hiked, going off of well beaten paths, keeping mind of their whereabouts so they would be able to find their way back. 

They came across a tree over an hour into their journey, huge in size, with a hole in it big enough to place several bags of coin inside while remaining hidden. It was above head height, perfect for their purpose. 

“Here,” the Night Watchman said. They wore gloved hands, as always, with their hood pulled forward so not even their eyes were visible for Derek to see. They were serious about their identity and didn’t want to be recognized. Derek’s hood, as well, was up, but his beard and blue eyes were easily recognizable and hard to hide. “If you drop off here once a week, I will pick it up the very same day. What do you say about dawn as a drop off time?” 

“I should drop off after dusk, giving you the entire night to pick it up. Or first light, if you don’t wish to travel these woods at night. When growing up, I was told they were haunted.” 

“Superstition,” the Night Watchman said, sighing. “Dusk would work fine. I can make my way in the dark, as long as there is a moon. I find it easier to move once the sun goes down.”

“Spoken like a true thief,” Derek mused. 

“Something like that,” the Night Watchman said as a twig snapped in the distance. They moved quickly, drawing their bow tight and notching an arrow. They shot off a warning arrow, hitting a far off tree by the sound of it. Derek drew his bow as well as another arrow shot from somewhere else. “Who did you bring with you?” 

“Boyd,” Derek said, pointing his bow in the direction the other arrow came from. “You?” 

“A colleague,” he said. “Tell Boyd to come forward or I shoot him. You were supposed to be alone.” 

“As were you.”

The Night Watchman’s grip tightened on his bow, showing his tension. 

“How about they both step forward?” 

“Fine.”

“Boyd, come on out,” Derek called out. “You’ll remain unharmed.”

The Night Watchman whistled, quick and sharp.

Boyd appeared, his bow still drawn. Someone else appeared, bow also at the ready. They were shorter than the Night Watchman, though dressed exactly the same. Something looked off about them, different, as if-- as if they were a woman. Shocked, Derek lowered his own bow. He didn’t want to shoot a woman, even though she had her bow trained on Boyd. The Night Watchman turned towards Derek, his shoulders slumped. 

“Good to know you don’t completely trust me.”

“Why is that?” Derek asked. 

“Because it would be idiotic if you blindly trusted anyone.” 

“Do you not want to work together?” Derek asked. 

“I didn’t say that,” they said, stepping forward towards Boyd and the masked woman. “Weapons down. We’re all friends here.” 

“Friend’s don’t hide their faces,” Boyd let out with a huff.

“Not friends, then,” the Night Watchman said, letting out an audible sign. “All of you be sure you can find this place again. This will be our new meeting place. It isn’t safe to meet on the Hale estate any longer.” 

“Why?” Boyd asked. 

“We know that Hale is being watched,” the Night Watchman said. 

“Did Stiles tell you that?” Derek asked. The woman glanced at the Night Watchman. “Is he your spy in the keep?” 

“Why does it matter?” The Night Watchman asked. Derek stepped forward, making himself seem bigger than he actually was, taller and stronger.

“Because I don’t want him to be hurt,” Derek said, lifting the corner of his mouth. The sound of a bow being drawn on him got his attention. Sure enough, the second Night Watchman had an arrow aimed at him. The Night Watchman before him held a hand up, stopping them from shooting him. 

“This is war, Derek,” the Night Watchman said. “No one is untouched, and there isn’t a single person unaffected by the sheriff’s rottenness in Beacon Hills. The noblemen are trapped in their gilded cages much like we are trapped in our desperation. Be careful of who you steal from, not all are against us.” 

“Who shouldn’t I steal from, then?” Derek asked. 

The Night watchman visibly hesitated before answering. 

“Stilinski, for certain.”

“I’d never,” Derek said honestly, hand over his heart. He couldn’t even fathom taking from Stiles, or his father. 

“The McCalls.” 

“I promise to keep from them as best I can,” Derek assured him. 

“And keep away from stealing from the Argents.” Derek thought about the ring in his pocket. “It won’t help matters.” 

“They are the richest, surely they wouldn’t notice--” 

The Night watchman reached out for Derek, gripping his shirt and vest tight as he pushed him against a tree. Derek shouted out at Boyd as he let himself be pinned, making sure Boyd didn’t shoot. 

Derek could see the Night Watchman’s narrowed eyes as they used their arms to pin him in place. Derek could get away, but he allowed himself to be shoved against the tree. 

“Don’t shoot, Boyd,” Derek said quickly, his attention on the Night Watchman. “I won’t take from the Argents.” 

“Good,” they said, shoving away from Derek. From over their shoulder, he called out a farewell. “Until next week.” 

Derek didn’t speak until the two hooded figures left, nameless and faceless as they were. He breathed heavily, allowing the intensity to die down. The air was thick, tense. Boyd watched Derek, his face drawn. 

“I don’t like this, Derek,” Boyd said honestly. “I don’t like it at all, that they know who we are, but I don’t know a thing about them. We should send Erica to--”

“No,” Derek said, brushing himself off. “We need to trust them if we are to make this work. It will be alright in the end. You’ll see.” 

This time, Boyd didn’t agree. 

Between courting Kate, stealing, and taking care of his property, Derek was exhausted. He slept at random times during the day, and he hadn’t seen Stiles in weeks. He wanted to set things to rights between them, because he couldn’t bear to think of there to a sourness between them, so he had Erica put together a small basket of cheeses that they’d made themselves, as well as a cut up loaf of freshly made bread to take to him as a sort of truce. 

He walked, enjoying the sunlight and scenery. He went through the woods, away from well worn pathways, remembering a simpler time when they used to get lost together in the very woods. Somewhere, there was a tree with their names carved into it. That was another life, a life where teenagers believed anything was possible. When Derek thought he could somehow be with Stiles. A chill ran down Derek’s body as he thought about it, the two of them together in the woods, playing around as young boys were want to do, only their hands had lingered, eyes hooded as they breathed heavily against each other. Derek had been young, and Stiles even younger. It had felt right, and yet Derek knew it was anything but. 

Before he knew it, Derek arrived at the Stilinski estate. What he didn’t expect to find was the door wide open and the sound of Stiles screaming from inside. Outside, guards were in view. Derek dropped the basket, running towards the house. 

“You can’t take him!” Stiles screamed as he was held back by two guards. Derek arrived in time to watch as the former sheriff was shackled. “Take me in his place.” 

“No, Stiles,” John said as he met Derek’s eyes. 

“Please,” Stiles begged, finally noticing Derek. “Help him.” 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Derek asked, using his most commanding voice. 

“We’ve orders to arrest John Stilinski for treason.” 

“On what grounds?” Derek asked. No one answered him. “I demand you let us know the grounds,” Derek said as he stepped forward, blocking the door. “This is the former sheriff you’ve got clapped in irons, he deserves respect.” 

“Orders is orders, take it up with the sheriff.”

Stiles struggled, his fists clenching as he watched his father being taken away. As soon as he was out the door, the guards let him go. Derek rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Stiles, holding him up. Stiles clutched at Derek for a moment, then pushed away from him, running towards the door to stop them from taking his father. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, grabbing hold of him. 

“Let go of me!” Stiles yelled, thrashing away from him. He was strong, stronger than Derek remembered him being. “He didn’t do anything--”

“I know,” Derek said gently. 

“This is all my fault,” Stiles said as he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, forcing back tears. “Derek, this is all my fault. I can’t-- he’s going to hang.” 

“He won’t,” Derek assured him. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” 

“How?” Stiles asked, half laughing. “He’s going to be made an example of. He’s a symbol of the past, and Argent doesn’t want him alive anymore. He serves no purpose but to be a reminder of how things used to be.” 

“I won’t let the sheriff hurt him, Stiles. I promise.” Stiles looked around his house, his breathing evening out. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, finally. 

“I came-- I came to reconcile.” Stiles gave Derek a small smile then sniffled, shaking his head. 

“There was nothing to reconcile, Derek. We’re fine.” 

“But--”

“I know you’re doing all you can,” Stiles mumbled, looking down at his hands. “I’ve been too harsh on you.” 

“No,” Derek said, kneeling by Stiles’ feet, taking Stiles’ hands in his own and squeezing. “I can do much, much more, and I will,” Derek said, wiping away a rogue tear as it slid down Stiles’ face. “Starting with saving your father’s life.”


	7. Chapter 7

The basket was where Derek had dropped it, with the food still wrapped safely inside a knotted cloth. With Stiles’ hand in his own, Derek handed Stiled the basket, leading him to his barn. 

“Derek, I’ll be fine,” Stiles said, his hand hanging limply in Derek’s own. Derek squeezed it, then let his hand drop. Stiles crossed his arms, his brow drawn tight, face scowling. “You can leave me here alone, I’ll--”

“Just get on the horse,” Derek said as he held the reigns to Stiles’ horse. “Come home with me.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” Stiles spat, though he got onto the horse, taking the reigns from Derek. Derek, too, got on, fitting behind Stiles, his hand resting on Stiles’ waist. Stiles gripped the reigns tight, clicking his tongue a few times before they headed towards Derek’s estate. 

Once they were back safely, he poured Stiles wine, then opened the basket. Stiles sat in Derek’s chair, the comfiest one, by the crackling fire.

“You really brought this for me?” Stiles asked, his voice soft. Derek nodded his head as he watched Stiles cut a piece of cheese, pairing it with a slice of bread. Derek scratched his beard, trying to look away but finding it difficult. He had to do something for Stiles, had to save his father. Stiles’ hands were shaking, his face drawn forlornly as he stared off at the fire. 

“What are we doing, Derek?” Stiles asked. Derek felt as though it was a loaded question. He felt like they were dancing around each other, they had been since they were children. He was drawn to Stiles like he was to no one else, had been since before he could remember. Stiles had a fire within him that Derek couldn’t help but want to be near. Stiles sighed, groaning as he covered his face with his hands. “You can’t just bring me cheeses when people are starving--”

“We made enough for the entire village,” Derek said, kneeling once more at Stiles’ feet. He seemed to always end up on his knees for Stiles, beseeching him. “I assure you, Stiles, I wouldn’t bring you something if I didn’t have enough for all.” Stiles paused, looking at the cheese. “This was my portion, which I wanted to share with you.” 

“Your portion alone?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded his head, his hand resting on Stiles’ knee, thumb brushing delicately across the soft leather. Stiles let out a shaky breath as he wiped at an eye. He still wouldn’t look at Derek directly. “I feel like I’m drowning,” Stiles whispered. “Like I’m in over my head.” 

“I’ll help keep you afloat,” Derek murmured, leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Stiles’. They stayed there, both of them breathing carefully, as if one word would break them both. Stiles put his hand over Derek’s, the feel of it making Derek close his eyes at the touch. He wanted to remember such a tender moment between them, especially if he was to die the next day in Stiles’ father’s place. Derek opened his eyes then, as he realized that he would put his life on the line for Stiles, or his father. 

Derek sat back on his knees, turning his hand over to link Stiles’ with his own. 

“I promise to do everything I can to save your father,” Derek said. “Of the two of us, you’re the only one with any family left, and I won’t allow us both to be alone in the world.” 

“You aren’t alone,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “You have me.” Derek smiled, squeezing Stiles’ hand once more. 

“You speak tenderly,” Derek said, clearing his throat. “And I -- I don’t deserve it.” 

“Derek, please,” Stiles said, his voice heavy with sincerity. “You must know that I care for you.” 

“I know,” Derek said, making to stand up. “I know, but we can’t.” Stiles tried to keep him close, but Derek took a step back from him. “You can stay here, sleep, eat. What’s mine is yours.” Stiles looked down at his hands, hurt by the dismissal. Derek stretched his fingers in the hand that had held Stiles’ hand, then he clenched it tightly. 

“Will you join me in your bed tonight?” Stiles asked, his chin raised in a challenge, his eyes holding the fire that Derek wanted to consume him. 

“I’ve a few things to attend,” Derek said, breaking eye contact first. He’d always been the coward when it came to their dance. “But then I will join you.” 

Derek left Stiles in his house, splashing water on his face from the well before finding Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. They had much to plan, and little time to do it in. By the time he made it up to his rooms, Stiles was asleep in his bed, curled up in Derek’s blankets. Derek sat down on the bed gingerly so that he could take his boots off without waking Stiles. Carefully, Derek rolled onto the bed, laying up against Stiles, draping his arm over him. Stiles didn’t stir, but Derek cherished the closeness of their bodies, the ability to hold Stiles and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It was enough. 

Stiles awoke well before dawn. Derek, a light sleeper, sat up in bed as Stiles stretched out beside him. Stiles reached out for him, shoving at him as he yawned. Then, as if he’d remembered what had happened the day before, his hand dropped like lead. 

“Come on,” Derek said. “We’ve got to get to the keep.” 

They dressed in silence, not talking about their various states of undress or the fact that they’d shared a bed for the first time in years; the first time since Stiles had become an adult. Looking at Stiles, Derek could still see child-like features in him, though now his face was more angled, had little baby fat left to it. His shoulders were wide, his muscles defined as he pulled on his shirt, his deft fingers lacing the string quickly before adding his vest. Derek splashed his face with water from a pitcher, running his fingers through his hair. 

Downstairs, Boyd, Isaac, and Erica waited for them with packs on their backs. Either Stiles wasn’t in an inquisitorial mood, or he simply didn’t care, but he didn’t ask about their bundles of sticks. They mounted their horses, riding as quickly as they could towards the Keep. Derek went in ahead of Boyd, Isaac, and Erica, leading Stiles through the crowd, completely weaponless. There was quite a turnout, it seemed, like word had spread that it was the former sheriff who was to hang. Derek kept an eye out as Stiles walked up the steps, barely looking back at Derek as he went to beg for his father’s life inside. Derek nodded his head as he watched Stiles go. As soon as he was out of sight, Derek made his way back through the crowd, to meet up with Erica. 

She was there, ready, with her bundle of sticks. Derek’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as he made sure he had a view of the gallows. He scanned the crowd for Boyd and Isaac. Boyd was across the way from them, on the ground, by a tall barrel that he planned on utilizing. He, too, had his bundle of sticks with him. Derek found Isaac by the front of the gallows, in the first row. Everyone was in place, and by the time the sheriff showed himself, Derek’s nerves were about to snap. 

With the sheriff were his counselors, Kate, and Stiles. John wasn’t the only one up to hang that day, and as the prisoners were brought out, Derek had a change in plan, but he couldn’t tell the others in time. There was a child among them, probably caught stealing. Derek wouldn’t allow them to hang in good conscience. 

“Erica,” Derek whispered. “Free the child.” 

“Derek--” Erica warned, her hands gripping the bundle tight. “That isn’t the plan.” 

“You aim for that rope, you hear me?” Derek said through gritted teeth. Around them, people sat in order to watch. They were on atop one of the inner walls between towers, with a direct view. “Shoot and then leave.”

“Derek,” Erica hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed for nothing.” 

“Not for nothing,” Derek said. 

There was a speech, though the Sheriff didn’t project far enough for Derek to hear it properly. He got the jist of it, though. Treason, treachery against the crown were the charges brought against John Stilinski. Around them, everyone was silent as they tried to hear. Among the others, the child had simply stolen. Derek watched Stiles, who was made to stand there and watch as his father’s head was put through a noose. They had to time it perfectly, what they were going to do. They couldn’t falter. 

“The diversion?” Derek asked Erica, almost too late. Erica looked around the Keep, at the lack of guards at their posts. 

“Taken care of.” 

Within the space of a breath, Derek and Erica took their bows out of the bundle of sticks, knocking their arrows. They both had their hoods up, as did Boyd and Isaac. Derek held his breath, then let go as soon as the prisoners dropped. His first arrow hit the sheriff’s rope; he dropped to the ground. He notched another, freeing the next person as Erica freed the child. Boyd, too, dropped two other people. Stiles, though not a part of the plan, ran forward to help his father. Isaac, too, helped everyone down. 

The frenzy took barely seconds, and the crowd was so boisterous that most of them got lost in it easily, despite being shackled. It wouldn’t be enough, Derek knew, it cut the rope of the noose. He had to ensure Stiles’ safety, and his father’s. Guards were scarce, except those on the ground on the gallows. Beside him, Erica was gone, just as he planned. He was alone, standing on the wall with scared peasants beside him. 

“Sheriff Argent,” Derek called out above the chaos. The Sheriff looked up, eyes glaring at Derek’s hooded figure. “The former sheriff is innocent of all charges. From this moment forward, if you so much as hang one more innocent person, I’ll reign hell down upon you.” 

“What gives you the authority?” Argent said. “Guards! I want that man!” 

Derek, consequences be damned, lowered his hood. 

“Hale!” Argent spat. “You’ll hang for this, so help me.” Kate, beside her father, looked furious as Derek knocked an arrow, pointing it towards the Sheriff. Pandemonium broke out beneath him as guards rushed forward to shield the sheriff. Derek took his chance and fled, but not before adding fuel to the fire of chaos and tossing coin down onto the ground below. 

Erica had a rope that lead down to an awning below, on the other side of the inner wall. Derek repelled downwards, jumping the rest of the way. He didn’t go out the same way as the rest, instead making his way into the barracks, down through the kitchens, past a grate, and into the moat where he swam across. 

By the time he got across, he looked back at the keep and saw the arrival of the guards, too little too late to help in the escape of the former sheriff. Derek knew they’d send dogs, send out riders. He didn’t have much time, but there was a plan for a reason. He only hoped that Boyd had gotten Stiles and the Sheriff, that they hadn’t lost them. 

Derek didn’t return to his estate. If he did, he’d be arrested on sight. There was no doubt in his mind that the sheriff hadn’t sent guards there first thing. Instead, he made his way into the woods, to the drop off tree. If everything went according to plan, then Erica would have gone back to the estate with Isaac to retrieve supplies that they’d asked the other villagers to gather. Boyd would have brought Stiles and his father to the drop off, as long as everything went to plan. Derek’s stomach was in knots as he rode on, dismounting when the trail disappeared, leading his horse deeper into the woods. 

Upon his arrival, he spotted them all, sitting, waiting for him. 

Stiles was the first to his feet, running up to Derek. Derek expected yelling, or for Stiles to be angry, but instead Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, holding him tight. 

“I thought you were captured,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s ear. “You-- you don’t know how to be subtle, do you?” 

“No,” Derek said with a smile, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I guess not.”

“Derek Hale, outlaw,” John said as he walked forward to shake Derek’s hand. “I must say, it has quite a ring to it.” Derek shook John’s hand, nodding his head. “I have to thank you, son. Something rotten is going on in Beacon Hills, and-- you and Stiles are right. We need to take it into our own hands if we’re to save it.” 

“So far only Derek has been outed,” Erica pointed out. “He’s pinned it all on himself. I think for now, we should away to the estate. “Except yourselves, of course.” 

“I plan on returning home,” Stiles said. 

“They’ll bring you in for questioning,” Derek pointed out. 

“At least to get supplies,” Stiles said. “You gave me no warning of your plan.” 

“After dark, then.” Stiles scowled, but nodded his head. “Erica, Isaac, if you return to the estate, be sure to go about life as if nothing has happened. Distance yourselves from knowing me.” 

“Of course,” Erica said. “I merely know of your presence, nothing more.” She dropped two bags full of coins. “That’s everything we had. They’re going to ransack your estate, now. I emptied it of all valuables.”

“You’re a goddess,” Derek said as he bent over, checking everything. 

“What in god’s good graces-- how did you get all of that gold?” John asked. 

“We have a lot to explain,” Derek said with a laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left!

The thing about calling out Argent on being a horrible sheriff, is that there were consequences. The fallout was expected, but Derek didn’t really think about it when he saved the sheriff’s life. Notices were put up around Beacon Hills, naming him an outlaw. He had a bounty put on his head, he was to be brought in alive. 

The first person to bring Derek a copy of the notice was Isaac, who’d apparently run from Derek’s estate with the news. Derek had laughed, at first, because it didn’t look a thing like him in his opinion. Then, he sat down, realizing that he, a former nobleman and countryman who’d gone to war for his king, was now an outlaw. Derek didn’t think he’d done enough to merit it, but he supposed simply defying the sheriff was all it took. 

He folded it up, bringing it into his small hut. They’d taken the time to make a few small buildings, huts really, to keep the weather at bay. There was no going back to the estate, to the life he’d once lead. 

“There is news from Beacon Hills,” Isaac said. “The stocks are full, the jail packed. The gallows is bloody, things are getting worse.” 

“We must fight back,” Derek said with a sigh. They’d taken to highway robbery, stopping nobles who traveled. Their hoods were always up, but the rumors were spreading: travel to Beacon Hills was dangerous. 

Derek hadn’t seen Stiles. John was sent off to a distant cousin of the McCall's, somewhere far away where the sheriff’s reign didn’t touch. Derek had told Stiles to stay away, to stay out of trouble. Every time Derek saw the Night Watchman he’d wanted to ask after Stiles, since they knew him, but he’d held himself back. He had more important things to do than to ask after Stiles, though he had no way of getting a hold of him himself. 

“Come on,” Derek said after stowing away the notice. “We need to gather more wood. I want to get working on these buildings. Winter is coming and I don’t want to be living in a hut that doesn’t keep the cold out.” Isaac followed Derek deeper into the woods, both of them with axes and a sled to put chopped trees onto. It was tough work, but necessary. Derek was thankful for Isaac and Erica, who lived at the estate still, for keeping him informed and slowly bringing him more and more things out of his family’s house. They couldn’t take it all at once, because they didn’t want to be caught. Jackson Whittemore took control of his land once more, only this time Derek was there to help his people. 

He may be an outlaw now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t giving his people what they needed. Between the Night Watchman giving them food, and him giving them coin, they were in a better place then they had been before Derek came back to Beacon Hills. 

As Derek chopped down trees, he counted the reasons why what he was doing was worth it. One, John Stilinski was alive and safe. Two, his people were going to have food and coin enough to survive the winter. Three, he was helping others. Four, the look Stiles gave him when Derek told him what he planned on doing, what he was doing. Five, Stiles. 

Derek had plans for the forest, his new home. It was elaborate, and he wouldn’t finish it before winter, but he’d be able to start. They dragged their wood deeper into the forest, farther from the trails than the meeting tree was, where the trees were thicker, the canopy hiding most of the daylight. He’d had the idea when thinking about Stiles and their childhood, about their wishes of living in the forest, of Stiles wanting to live high in the trees. Derek planned on building himself not just a tree house, but a tree village. 

They had the beginnings of one building, circling the trunk of a tree, twenty-five feet in the air. Sitting beneath a nearby tree, Erica sat, weaving rope together with planks, making their first bridge. 

Boyd was up the tree, securing more boards into place. Derek set out stripping the tree he and Isaac dragged through the woods of leaves. It took a long time for them to ready it, to chop it down enough to use. Luckily, they were able to borrow the tools from the carpenter from Derek’s estate, who’d become too old to use them himself. They’d donated the tools to Derek’s cause readily. In return, Derek gave them an entire bag of money. 

They didn’t thieve every day. If they did, they’d be caught. They timed it to when the Night Watchman told them there was to be a ball, or an important meeting at the keep. They watched the main roads, hiding until a carriage came by. 

It was Derek who jumped in front of them, who put himself in harm's way while the others waited in the bushes with their arrows at the ready. It was either hand over coin, or be killed. So far they hadn’t had to kill anyone. Most nobles valued their lives more than a bag of gold. 

The information that was given to Derek, though, concerned him. It concerned him because he knew that Stiles remained in the area, that he didn’t follow his father to the safety of the McCall's distant relatives. He knew that Stiles spied. What Derek didn’t know, though, was if Stiles had been caught or not. He had no word, and that was what worried him. 

They worked until dusk, parting ways until the morning with Isaac and Erica heading for the estate while Derek and Boyd made the long trek back to the meeting tree where the Night Watchman would be waiting with food. They had lanterns, because they didn’t want to get lost. Even with a full moon, it wasn’t easy to see because of the canopy above them, and breaking an ankle would mean death this deep in the woods, with no one miles and miles around. 

The Night Watchman had a fire going, a rabbit roasting over it, as Derek and Boyd approached. Derek sat down, taking a drink for the first time in hours as the Night Watchman handed him a waterskin. Boyd, too, drank from it as they passed it back and forth. 

“There is a meeting in three days,” the Night Watchman said as he looked out into the woods surrounding them. “I think it would be a good idea if you were there for it.” 

“There for it?” Derek asked, laughing. “I can’t go to the keep.” 

“I can get you in unseen,” the Night Watchman said. 

“Why do you think I should go?” Derek asked. “I’ve never had to before--”

“Because it’s about-- it’s not for me. It’s for you. The prince will be there.” Derek’s jaw clenched. “If you somehow got the prince’s ear-- you worked alongside the king--”

“How do you know that?” Derek asked, his eyes narrowed. 

“Stilinski told me.” 

“Did he?” Derek asked, affronted. 

“Stiles will be listening in already, he can guide you.” 

“He shouldn’t be there,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “He should keep his head down.” The Night Watchman laughed, though it was short lived. 

“He’ll meet you at dusk.” 

“Why dusk?” Derek asked. “If the meeting isn’t until--”

The Night Watchman visibly sighed. Derek shut his mouth, clenching his fists. He always felt like it was a chore whenever the Night Watchman talked to him. They were allies, but only just. 

“The guards will be on high alert. The sooner you get into the keep, the better.” Then after a moment he added: “And you should wash. You smell.” The Night Watchman left without another word, leaving Derek alone. He didn’t have much time to come up with a plan for Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. If there was going to be a lot of traffic at the keep, then that meant there would be plenty of opportunities for the rich to give their excess to the poor via forced donation. Derek grinned, pushing his own fears back as he thought of the coin they’d gather. 

He sniffed himself, making a face. If he was going to be in the keep, the Night Watchman was right, he shouldn’t smell like sweat and the forest. After speaking with Boyd, Derek found himself by a waterfall, with soap in hand. He stripped down, jumping into the water. He had fresh clothes at the ready, thanks to Erica who’d managed to get a trunk out into the woods to keep Derek’s belongings safe from the weather. Derek scrubbed himself, despite the cold water. He washed away dirt, took care to scrub away the remnants of his living out in the woods. 

“You make bathing seem like a dream,” Stiles’ voice echoed around Derek. Derek opened his eyes, turning upwards where Stiles had been climbing down an embankment that surrounded the waterfall. Derek didn’t move to cover his exposed body, like he once would have done. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair before going under the spray once more, washing away the soap lather. 

“I wasn’t to expect you until dusk,” Derek called out. He wasn’t shy, but knowing that Stiles watched him without looking away wasn’t what Derek needed to think about.   
“Better early, I think,” Stiles said as he sat beside Derek’s things. He picked through them, looking at Derek’s shirt and boots. “So you know the plan?” 

“Not really,” Derek said as he made his way over towards Stiles. He dove into the water once more before hoisting himself up onto the rocky shore. He sat in a patch of sunlight, holding his knees close as he let the sun begin to dry him off. Stiles’ eyes were on Derek’s thighs, his biceps. “What is the plan?” 

“The plan,” Stiles murmured. “The plan is that we infiltrate the keep, get you to the prince, so you can explain and the reward would be lifted. The plan is to get you to not be an outlaw any longer. Oh, and expose Argent for the snake he is.” 

“You think the prince will care that Argent has taken money from us? The prince set the tax himself.”

“And Argent is skimping off the top of that by making the tax even larger. This is the right thing to do, Derek,” Stiles said, finally looking away. A blush creeped across Stiles’ cheeks. “As soon as you’re dressed we can head to the keep. It will take some time, on foot.” 

Derek didn’t like putting on clothes while still wet, but Stiles had a point. Derek dressed, his shirt clinging to him and his leather pants a pain to pull on. Once his boots were on, they began walking, with Stiles carrying Derek’s bow and quiver as he tied his shirt and vest properly. Derek ate an apple Stiles brought in a pack, along with some jerky. They walked in silence, with Derek not knowing how to ask him how he’d been. 

“I haven’t seen you,” Derek said, finally. “In weeks.” 

“We’ve been busy,” Stiles said, looking straight ahead. He sighed, then looked at Derek, his mouth set in a frown. “I’ve been keeping my head down. With my dad gone... my life isn’t what it was. But I guess you know something about that.” 

Derek couldn’t help but smile. He knew a little bit about life altering events. 

“I know you know this already: but if it wasn’t for you, my dad-”

“It’s alright, Stiles,” Derek said. What he wanted was to hug Stiles, to hold him close, but instead they walked on. “I’d do it again for him, for you.” 

“Don’t- don’t say things like that,” Stiles said with the shake of his head. “Even though I know they’re true. You can’t just throw away your life for me.” 

“I can if I want,” Derek said. “I don’t like that you’re doing this.” 

“Doing what? Talking to you?” 

“You know what,” Derek said, his voice grave. “I don’t want you to swing, either.” 

Stiles scoffed. 

“I grew up in that keep, Derek,” Stiles said with a smirk. “I know what I’m doing.”

Stiles did know what he was doing, it turned out. They sunk into the keep in the dark of night, by climbing up a blind spot and into a window. The room they were in was dark, without furniture. Stiles pressed a finger to his lips, urging Derek to remain quiet. Derek nodded his head in understanding, then Stiles took Derek’s hand and lead him away from the window, away from the moonlight and into pitch blackness. Unsure, Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand. Stiles squeezed back, then tugged Derek forward. Derek trusted that Stiles knew what he was doing, but blind faith wasn’t something that he had been counting on needing. 

They went along a wall, the darkness continuing until Stiles brought them under a tapestry. The sudden light of a wall sconce surprised Derek. What surprised him further was the fact that he knew where they were. Stiles got them, somehow, into the Sheriff’s very own quarters. Stiles, once more, put his finger to his mouth, letting go of Derek’s hand. He missed the touch immediately, wishing to go back into the darkness if only to be that close to Stiles once more. Stiles stepped forward tentatively, then more confidently. 

It was the middle of the night, and Derek knew the Sheriff to be asleep, but still, he hadn’t expected Stiles to bring Derek into his very bed chamber to see his sleeping form. Stiles stepped forward towards the bed and Derek reached out to stop him. Stiles swatted Derek’s hand away, then bent over the sheriff. 

Derek held his breath, because he was sure that Stiles was going to slice his throat. Instead, Stiles turned around to face Derek, holding a bag of gold. He held it out to Derek, grinning. Derek held his hand out for it, and Stiles handed it over easily. It was heavy in Derek’s palm. He looked to the bed, surprised that there were numerous bags in the bed with him. 

The sheriff slept in a bed full of coin. 

Derek attached the bag to his belt: the sheriff’s contribution to their cause. 

Stiles took Derek’s hand once more, leading him back into the darkness via a tapestry, a different one this time. What Derek wasn’t expecting was for Stiles to lead them into a bedroom. Stiles lit a candle, then a wall sconce. There was a bed, a desk, and a shelf full of books, along with an empty fireplace. 

“No one will bother us here,” Stiles said as he handed Derek a candle. He avoided Derek’s eyes as he took off his pack, bringing out more jerky and a small loaf of bread. “We should eat, then sleep.” 

“What is this place?” Derek asked in a whisper. Stiles grinned to himself as he ripped the bread in half, handing Derek the bigger piece. Stiles broke off a tiny mouthful and popped it into his mouth, chewing it slowly. 

“My secret hideout,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I found it when I was little. I used to hoard my favorite books from the library here,” he said, looking at the shelf. “I came here when I wanted to disappear. It doesn’t have a door that leads to the hallways. The only way in is through secret passage. No one knows about it. We’re safe here.” 

“How is this place possible?” Derek asked. 

“This keep is old, Derek, generations old. Someone might have a long time ago, but Argent definitely doesn’t know about it. He barely explores, and stays in his chambers or the great hall. We wait out the arrival of the prince here.” 

Not that spending days with Stiles, alone, wasn’t one of Derek’s greatest wants, but he didn’t think now was the time for him to allow himself that luxury. Stiles went over the the shelf, pulling out a book then handing it to Derek. 

“To pass the time before we sleep,” Stiles said simply. Derek took it, then sat in one of the chairs by the table, enjoying the small meal. “I can go down to the kitchens and grab us some wine,” he said with a smirk. 

“Not without me,” Derek said. “I don’t want us to split up, now.” 

“It won’t take me long,” Stiles said. “If you come with me, it will only slow me down.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Derek said, but he was sure that Stiles didn’t hear him, that he’d already left. Derek tried not to think about how asinine their plan was. Stiles was grown, an adult, and would be tried as such. Not that it really mattered, when Derek remembered that the sheriff had almost hung a child. 

Derek took his boots off, along with his vest, in Stiles’ absence. There was only one bed in the room, barely big enough for the two of them. Derek took his candle over to it, looking over the rumpled sheets that Stiles had left behind the last time he’d used the rooms. This was where Stiles disappeared to, when Derek hadn’t seen him in days, or weeks. Stiles came here. There was a book by the bedside table, half read. 

Stiles had been here the entire time. Derek was about to look around more, in the wardrobe for instance, when Stiles reappeared with more food in his arms, along with two bottles of unopened wine and two goblets. Derek helped him unload his arms. There was fruit, meat, breads and cheeses wrapped in a cloth. 

“The kitchen was empty, so I took enough to keep us full until the prince comes,” Stiles beamed. “Well, maybe not enough wine.” 

“You’ve been living here?” Derek asked. Stiles cleared his throat, biting his lip as he concentrated on opening the first bottle of wine. “Stiles.”

“Most nights, yes,” Stiles said with a sigh. He didn’t look Derek in the eye. “We need information, and I’m the best one to get it.” 

“Who is “we”?” Derek asked. 

“You know who,” Stiles said, handing Derek a goblet full of wine. 

“So you are working closely with the Night Watchman,” Derek stated. Stiles shrugged, popping a grape into his mouth. It reminded Derek of Kate, of her force feeding Derek. He thought about how he’d wanted to do it to Stiles, instead. Stiles sat down backwards in his chair, leaning forward, towards Derek as he drank his own wine. Derek ate a grape, looking at Stiles’ hands. 

“How about this: we don’t talk about the Night Watchman until completely necessary.” 

“If you wish,” Derek said. “Do you want to take turns sleeping?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Stiles said bluntly. “I want to sleep together.” 

Derek scoffed, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“I meant sleep, Derek,” Stiles said. “When was the last night you slept in a bed? Why must you make everything so-- so difficult. I just want to sleep. With you.”

“Alright,” Derek said. 

“You make it sound like it’s the last thing you’d want to do. Forbid you be near me.” 

“You know that isn’t true.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes once more, then began unlacing his own boots. He downed the rest of this wine, then refilled his goblet. 

“Come on then,” Stiles said as he took Derek’s hand. “Let’s get in bed.” 

Derek ate another piece of bread and cheese before finishing his wine. Stiles sat on the bed, waiting for him. He knew he should cherish this moment, should kiss Stiles and lay him down in the bed and make him feel everything that Derek felt, he wanted to worship him. Instead, Derek laid down next to Stiles, who turned away from Derek onto his side, blowing out the candle. They were washed in darkness, the only sound in the room was Stiles’ breathing beside him. 

“Just this,” Stiles said before yawning. “That’s all I wanted.” Derek relaxed beside him, allowing himself one thing: he draped his arm over Stiles, pulling him closer. Stiles rest his hand over Derek’s, obviously okay with it. Derek fell asleep with his arm around Stiles, his face buried against Stiles’ hair. He hadn’t slept so good in years.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. <3

Derek woke up as Stiles shifted in bed beside him. During the night they’d separated, with Stiles taking all of the covers and somehow burrowed himself in them. Stiles rolled over, with his head peeking out of the blanket, hair a mess. Derek couldn’t help but smile as Stiles opened one eye, glaring at him. 

“What?” Stiles asked, voice hoarse. 

“Nothing,” Derek said with the shake of his head. He sat up, stretching. He felt rested; he felt amazing. Stiles groaned as he stretched as well, kicking the blanket off of him. He reached out to Derek, wanting Derek’s hand in his own. Derek allowed him this one thing, linking his fingers with Stiles’. Stiles held onto it, looking at Derek’s hand, his eyes closing once more, the remnants of sleep making it difficult for him to stay awake.

“We could--” Stiles began but then bit his bottom lip, dropping Derek’s hand. He sat up in silence. Derek let the silence consume him, the weight of what Stiles wanted hanging between them. Derek wanted it too, but the consequences were death. 

Death, which they were most certainly running towards already. Derek had a bounty on his head, and Stiles was determined to be mixed up with the Night Watchman, as a spy. There shouldn’t be a difference between breaking one law and another, not when it caused them this much pain. 

Derek watched Stiles pour water into a basin and begin to wash his face. He thought about how easy it could be, to kiss Stiles, to give in to what he wanted. He knew Stiles would be receptive to it, but the moment, it seemed, was over as Stiles put his boots on. 

“It’s time to start spying,” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow as Derek still stood in the middle of the room, unmoving. “Are your boots soft leather soled? If not, I’d rather you walk barefoot.” 

“They aren’t.”

“Barefoot it is,” Stiles said. “We can’t be heard.” 

“Whatever you want,” Derek said hollowly. “Whatever you think is best.” 

Stiles side-eyed Derek, who couldn’t stop staring at Stiles’ lips. It was as if some sort of door had been opened in Derek’s brain and he could no longer sift through his thoughts, couldn’t section the ones solely on Stiles off away from the rest. 

“Come on,” Stiles said. He walked out of the room, with Derek following behind. Derek would be lying if he didn’t say that he’d hoped that Stiles would take his hand once more. They walked through the darkness, much like the night before, only now Derek knew that it was day time, that the sun was shining. The passageways were in complete darkness, and eventually Stiles reached out for Derek, making Derek take his hand. 

They found themselves in a cramped space, barely big enough for the two of them. Standing face to face, Stiles covered Derek’s mouth with his hand to keep him quiet. Derek hadn’t planned on saying anything but as soon as he heard the Sheriff’s voice, his eyebrows rose. He couldn’t see Stiles, but he could feel him breathing, the rise and fall of his chest as they were pressed together. 

“I want Hale found, I want him found immediately.” 

Derek didn’t react to the sheriff talking about him, he reacted because Stiles did. Pressed against him, he felt Stiles’ shoulders tense.

“We’re doing everything we can,” a voice said. “But he hasn’t been seen since--”

“Raise the award, then!” 

“It seems like no one wants it.” 

“That is preposterous, these people are poor. Of course they want the money.” 

“It seems like Hale is some sort of savior to them. They don’t want to hand him over.” 

“Somewhat akin to the Night Watchman,” another man said. Derek wished he could see what was happening, who the sheriff was talking to. The walls were thin, but they weren’t able to see anything at all. 

“I want the Night Watchman found as well,” the sheriff said. “I want them both strung up together. This rebelling nonsense needs to end.” 

Stiles stilled, his hand leaving Derek’s mouth, dropping to his chest. Derek had his hands on Stiles’ waist, and he could feel Stiles’ breath on his neck. The severity of the Argent’s words sank in. 

“Word came on the whereabouts of John Stilinski, Sir.” 

Stiles’s breathing picked up, his hands clutching at Derek. Derek moved a hand to Stiles’ neck, his thumb on his chin. Stiles rest his head on Derek’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Who is he with?” 

“The McCalls.” 

“Any sign of Stiles?” 

“None so far.” 

“We won’t move to take Stilinski back unless we have to, at least until Hale is captured. For now, leave him where he is.” Stiles let out a small sigh, then his lips pressed against Derek’s neck. Derek tilted his head, his heart beating harshly in his chest as he felt the first brush of his lips against Stiles’. Stiles almost moaned, letting out an audible sigh as Derek held onto him with one hand, cupping his cheek with the other as the kiss deepened. 

Derek’s attention shifted from the sheriff to Stiles, his hand gliding lower as Stiles pressed against him. He couldn’t stop kissing Stiles, now that he’d started. Stiles, likewise, seemed unable to let him go. 

Eventually, Stiles slowed down enough that they both panted silently, the conversation long over and the room beside them silent. Stiles lead Derek back to the room, where he immediately began to strip down. 

“Stiles--”

“Don’t think,” Stiles said. “Enough thinking, Derek. I’ve waited -- you’ve waited long enough for this,” Stiles said, kissing Derek once more when his shirt was on the ground at their feet. “If we’re going to die, then I want to die knowing that I had you.” 

“You aren’t going to die,” Derek assured him as Stiles began unlacing Derek’s own shirt. “Stiles, I won’t--”

“You won’t let me,” Stiles said with a laugh as they kissed again. “I know that, you keep reminding me about it. Only I don’t think you realize,” Stiles said as he cupped Derek’s cheeks with his hands. “That I don’t want to live without you, either.” 

“I love you,” Derek said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as Stiles smiled at him knowingly. 

“And I love you, but right now... Right now I want us to give into what we’ve both been dancing around since before you left.” Derek let out a shaky breath, nodding his head. Stiles grinned at him, kissing him once more as he lead him towards the bed. 

Stiles produced a vial of oil from a box on the bookshelf, tossing it to Derek, who merely looked at it, perplexed as Stiles stripped down to nothing. 

“I won’t have you fucking me if you don’t have something to help ease the way,” Stiles said as he poured some into Derek’s hand. “Have you never--”

“No,” Derek said, the word catching in his throat as Stiles smeared the oil over Derek’s fingers. 

“Well,” Stiles said, his face flushing. “I have. I thought of you, though.” 

“Did you?”

“While you were gone,” Stiles admitted. “I dreamt of you touching me,” he said, kissing Derek again as he straddled him. “Of you preparing me.” He guided Derek’s fingers to his ass, helping him as Derek pressed inwards. Derek moaned at the feel of it, as he gripped Stiles’ ass with one hand and opened him up with the other. Stiles groaned, his head thrown back as Derek moved his finger before inserting a second at Stiles’ urging. Stiles’ erection pressed against Derek’s stomach as they moved together. They kissed again as Stiles unlaced Derek’s pants, freeing his own erection. Stiles stroked him a few times before situating himself over Derek’s cock. 

“I’m ready,” Stiles said, kissing Derek again. Derek held onto Stiles as he sank down onto Derek’s cock, setting the pace as they kissed. Derek couldn’t do anything but moan into Stiles’ mouth, his brain no longer working as Stiles moved against him in his lap. Stiles’ hands were in his hair, tugging at it. Eventually, Derek rolled Stiles onto his back, taking control of their movements as he fucked into him, panting as they continued to kiss and move together. 

When Derek came, his entire body shook. Stiles, too, with his hand around his own cock, came with a shuddering breath, the two of them lying motionless on the bed. 

“Gods,” Stiles said as he caught his breath. “I’m going to need to do that again.” Derek grunted his assent, but couldn’t find words. Instead, he kissed Stiles’ shoulder, then his neck, his chin, then his cheek before he finally kissed his lips once more. He wanted to do what they just did many, many more times. 

-

They dressed, eventually, then snuck back out of the castle with haste. 

“I need to go get word to the Night Watchman,” Stiles said. “I will meet you back at this spot before dawn.” 

“I don’t want to split up, Stiles,” Derek said. 

“We have to,” Stiles said. “This is important, Derek.” 

“I know that,” Derek said, kissing Stiles once more, because he could. “I just needed to say that outloud, too. We both have things we need to do. I will meet you here just before dawn.” 

Derek didn’t want to leave Stiles, but he did what Stiles wanted. Besides, he didn’t want Stiles part of his plan, wanted Stiles to stay safe from it, in case it didn’t work out. 

Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were surprised to see Derek at the camp. It was the middle of the night, but they were awake, just like Derek hoped they would be. 

“I need to write a letter, Boyd,” Derek said. “And I want you to make sure it gets safely to the king.” 

“Me?” Boyd asked. 

“You,” Derek said with a nod of his head. “It’s high time he knew what was happening here.” 

“What about us?” Erica asked. “Do you have a task for Isaac and I?” 

“I do,” Derek said, smirking. “We’re going to rob the sheriff. I now know where he keeps his illegally gained gold.” 

-

At dawn, Stiles still hadn’t shown up. Derek was concerned, but believed him to only be running slightly behind. By the time the sun rose and Stiles wasn’t to be found, Derek began to panic. He waited two hours for Stiles before heading back to camp, making sure that Erica and Isaac were ready. The plan was simple. Erica gave Derek herbs to put into the wine that would put everyone to sleep, mostly the guards. The guards were the important part of the equation, and they just so happened to drink the most. 

Instead of waiting for Stiles, Derek went ahead back to the castle, hoping not to get lost. It was harder, sneaking in in the middle of the day, but Derek managed it. He laced the wine, barrels of it, then lit a torch in order to go through the passages. Their room was empty, and Derek found that he couldn’t stay there without Stiles in it, the memories of the night before haunting him now that Stiles was missing. 

Derek hoped that Stiles had gone to Scott and that he had finally talked some sense into him to stay away, to keep safe. It was the waiting which was the worst. Waiting for sunset, and then for the hours to pass when the wine would take effect. Waiting for the sheriff to sleep. 

When Derek thought it to be late enough, when the bell struck two, he set off for the sheriff’s chambers. There was a window, which opened outwards. Derek looked out into the darkness, where he saw a small light across the way, in one of the guard towers, where Erica and Isaac waited for him to make a move. Derek carefully took out his coil of rope that he’d stored in a bag over his shoulder, tying an end to it before taking aim, shooting it. Isaac returned the shot. They took the rope, tying it together around something. In Derek’s case, it was one of the posters of the bed, making a makeshift pulley out of it. Carefully, Derek tied a bag of coin to the rope, then another, before sending them across to the guard tower. He looked out across the ground below, which was empty of the normal foot guards. He sighed in relief, then sought out getting rid of the bags as quickly as possible. 

It was difficult keeping quiet. The bags themselves jostled as he moved them, and the rope rubbed against the poster of the bed. Luckily, it seemed as though the sheriff was a deep sleeper. Derek tried not to think about the fact that if the Sheriff awoke, he would be a dead man. Or, alternatively, he could technically kill the Sheriff where he slept. Both meant his death, and he was really there for the gold. Once the gold was gathered and out of the room, all except one bag that the sheriff clutched in his arms as he slept, Derek cut the pulley system, gathering the rope so that he could use it to scale the wall on the other side of the room, tying it off easily. 

He used his strength and the stones of the Keep to lower himself with the rope, walking down as quickly as possible. He was sweating, his nerves on end as he made his way away from the Keep. It was dark, and he couldn’t see where he was going, so he didn’t see a board that had been nailed across two trees. He hit it face on, knocking him to the ground as he’d ran. Dazed, Derek was hauled to his feet by two guards who had appeared seemingly from nowhere. 

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous outlaw Hale,” a familiar voice rang out of the darkness. Derek spat blood onto the ground before him. Jackson Whittemore appeared, lit by torches that servants held up around him. Derek squinted up at him. “There is quite a price on your head, you know.” 

“I had no idea,” Derek rasped as he was jostled. His muscles strained as he attempted to get out of the guards’ grip, but it was no use. Derek spit again, getting blood on Jackson’s nice leather boots. Jackson sneered at him, nodding his head. 

Derek was punched in his stomach for his troubles before being lead back towards the keep, right to the sheriff’s great hall, where he’d apparently already awoken to find his gold gone. 

Argent was in his night clothes, face angry, and his robe tied tightly around him as Derek was forced to his knees in front of him. 

“You’ll hang for this,” the sheriff told him. 

Derek didn’t reply. 

“No one can save you, no one would risk their life for you, an outlaw whose family was a disgrace to his majesty.” 

Derek grit his teeth, his eyes closing as he tried not to think about his family, all dead because of Argent. 

“He’ll hang at dawn, in two hours time.” Derek looked up at the Sheriff, baring his teeth as he lunged forward, though his arms were shackled, his legs bound. 

The sheriff leaned forward. 

“You think you can steal from me and live?” 

“The gold is gone,” Derek smirked. “Good luck finding it.” 

“You have two hours to question him,” The sheriff said. Derek laughed: they’d get nothing from him, he told Erica and Isaac to take it somewhere he didn’t know about it. He’d die knowing the gold would go back to the people, and that’s all he could ask for. 

Still, they tried to get the information out of him. Two hours was plenty of time, and he was sure that anyone in the surrounding area surely heard his screams. Derek wasn’t given a blindfold when he was brought to the gallows, limping. His clothes were bloodied, his body aching, if not broken. He could barely see out of one eye, which was swollen shut, his throat dry and scratched from yelling out in pain. Still, he looked out ahead with his chin held high. He felt the weight of the rope as it was put around his neck, could feel the wood of the platform beneath his bare feet. 

There was a crowd, their whispers of disbelief filling the grounds. There was a speech given, though Derek’s hearing wasn’t the best, his head ringing. He was sure it was the sheriff’s normal treason talk and betrayal to the crown which made Derek laugh. He laughed outright, his eyes closing as he thought about fighting by the king’s side, about his quest home, how it was supposed to be an honor. 

Nothing felt honorable anymore. 

The drop was sudden, it was fast, and the feel of the rope against his neck was jarring. He couldn't breathe. He’d wished the drop had broken his neck so it would be quick, but instead he thrashed, his feet kicking out, seeking purchase. 

Instead, he dropped to the ground, dazed as he gasped for air. His hands were tied around his back, unable to do anything but crumple to the ground. Chaos had ensued, arms grabbing him and lifting him to his feet. He waited for a sword to run him through, for a knife in the back, or a slit throat. Instead, Stiles was before him in a familiar ensemble that had Derek laugh once more, only this time it was in relief: Stiles was the Night Watchman, and he’d come for Derek. 

“Stiles,” Derek stuttered. 

“You imbecile,” Stiles hissed as he held Derek up. “What were you thinking?”

“You’ll be killed,” Derek said as Stiles cut his restraints.   
Stiles scoffed. “Will not,” Stiles huffed as he helped Derek walk. 

“Stop!” Argent shouted. “Stop this at once! Arrest Stilinski!” 

Stiles didn’t stop walking, though, walking towards the exit until they were surrounded. Stiles sighed, then, looking at the sheriff as if exasperated. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Stiles said, holding onto Derek, who had an arm over Stiles’ shoulder. 

“I should have known you were mixed up in this Night Watchman business,” Argent sneered. “You’ll be executed.” 

“That would be difficult, since you are no longer sheriff of Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, his eyes harsh, tone firm. 

“What are you talking about?” Argent demanded angrily. Derek, whose sight was slightly impeded, couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw two other Night Watchman walk forward out of the gate with none other than the King himself. Derek fell to his knees, too weak to remain standing. He brought Stiles down with him, who bowed as the king walked past him. 

“How?” Derek whispered. Stiles pursed his lips, shaking his head as he squeezed Derek’s hand. 

“Sheriff Argent,” the king said with an authoritative voice that Derek knew well. Out of the corner of his good eye, Derek saw Boyd. He didn’t know how Boyd found the king so quickly, unless the King had already been on his way to Beacon Hills. “It has come to my attention how you’ve overstepped your bounds here in Beacon Hills. I’ve come to see for myself.” 

The sheriff was on his knees repenting, but the king did not look at him, but at Derek instead. 

“Step forward, Hale.” 

Stiles helped Derek to his feet. Derek groaned, his body not wanting to move, his pain was too great. 

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles said softly. “You can do this.” 

“Your Majesty,” Derek managed to say. 

The king acknowledged him before looking back at the sheriff. “Derek Hale, as you may have heard, fought beside me. I trusted him greatly, by making him a messenger for me. I’ve gotten word from not only Boyd, but from your own granddaughter that you burned my letter. Is this true?” 

“Burned,” Derek whispered. He had no idea, but the look on Stiles’ face told him what he already knew to be true. The sheriff scoffed, looking to the king’s side where one of the Watchman, the woman, lowered her hood. It was Allison Argent, Stiles’ and Scott’s friend. Derek’s eyes widened, looking at the other Night Watchman, who had to be none other than Scott McCall. 

“My King---”

“You will not address me so,” the king said plainly. “When you are guilty of treason. Guards, seize him. I’ll deal with you at a later time,” the king said flippantly. Once more his gaze was on Derek. “I am sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” he said not unkindly. “I could have saved you a great deal of pain. Luckily Stiles here is a good shot.” 

“Learned from the best,” Stiles said, his voice shaking. It was only then that Derek realized that Stiles had been afraid for him; afraid that he was going to die. 

But he didn’t. 

 

**Epilogue.**

Derek looked at himself in the mirror, admiring the new outfit he’d had made for the occasion. Soft leather pants, boots to his knees, a new linen shirt and vest. He walked with a cane, temporarily, as Stiles sat in a chair by the fire, admiring the view with a glass of wine in his hand. 

“I could get used to this,” Stiles said with a smirk. 

“You’ll have to,” Derek murmured as he laced the front of his shirt. “If you’re to stay with me here.” 

Stiles shrugged as if uninterested. 

Derek rolled his eyes, walking forward, kissing Stiles on the lips tenderly. 

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of missing you being knighted,” Stiles said as he stood up, kissing Derek again. “Sir Hale, Sheriff.” 

“Sir Stilinski, Counselor,” Derek said, grinning. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Together they would make sure Beacon Hills stayed safe, that it wouldn’t go hungry, that it was treated how it should’ve been all along. From outlaw to sheriff, thanks to the king. Without Stiles, Derek would be dead. Together, they would return Beacon Hills to the place they’d fallen in love all those years before the war. Together, they would remain side by side, protecting it. 

Derek kissed Stiles once more before they made their way to the great hall, where they could start the rest of their new lives -- together.


End file.
